The last sip of coffee was cold. But it's the only thing you seemed to save me. Last of the bottom of the coffee bag you left. The bittersweet taste is something I don't want to forget. Every morning I would try to finish the coffee you left me before going out for your run. You loved running. Even if it was already humid and sticky at eight in the morning you would go out for you two mile run and come back to me at the kitchen table sipping on the last of that warm coffee.

Yet now. That coffee is cold. And gone. Just like you. And you have no idea how much I wish I could reverse that last sip of cold coffee. That last moment, or memory, or you. Because in reality. That coffee was once hot. Just like how you were once alive and saving that coffee.

I no longer drink coffee. Too bittersweet; drowned out by salty tears holding memories of you.