Burned coffee in a chipped mug

Made breakfast for one this morning—just me, the stove, and the ghost of last season’s crew. The coffee was too strong, the way it always is when you’re not rushing. I used the same chipped mug we all passed around on burn days, the one with the handle half-lost to heat. It held the scent of smoke and bad decisions and something like home. Didn’t pour it right—spilled a little down the counter. Let it sit. The stain’s still there. I don’t mind. Some things are better left uncleaned.