I reheated the same coffee twice and still never really drank it properly

Dear Delyara, The first time I left it because my daughter couldn’t find her reading book. The second time I left it because work called earlier than expected. By the time I finally took a proper sip, it had become one of those lukewarm compromises that doesn’t offend enough to throw away but doesn’t satisfy enough to count as care either. That felt too symbolic to ignore. I think a lot of my life lately has that temperature. Not terrible. Not nourishing. Just interrupted enough that the good thing arrives thinned out by the time it reaches me. Coffee, quiet, appetite, sleep, patience — all of it repeatedly delayed by practical need. I drank it anyway, standing in the kitchen in my slippers, and told myself it still counted. I’m not sure it did.