The coffee I didn’t drink today

I made it at 7:15 a.m. — the kind with the dark roast and a whisper of cinnamon, the way my old supervisor used to say it should be. But I left it on the windowsill. By 9:30, it was cold. Not just cool — gone. The kind of stillness that only happens when something is abandoned without ceremony. I didn’t pour it out. I just watched it turn into a memory. It wasn’t about the coffee. It was about who I was before the shift started.