It is the only one who wakes me. Only I know the perfect mixture. One steaming cup of coffee kisses my lips and warms my soul. One that can make my day or ruin it. One warms up the once cold glass mug. From my room, I can smell the aroma wafting from the kitchen, but not everyone can appreciate this like me.
It’s strength is crucial. It sends waves of energy intricately through my veins. The steaming cup brings sunshine and joy to tired,weary eyes and a burst of confidence to all those in need. This is how it becomes a daily ritual.
Let one forget their reason for being, we’d all droop like tulips in a glass, each with our own exhausted souls. Open, open, open it says. They awake.
When I am too deprived and too tired to keep keeping, when I am a tired being facing so many tasks, then it is I sip from one steaming cup. When there is nothing left to pry open my heavy eyes. One who warms despite the cold. One who wakes and does not forget to wake. One whose only reason is to wake the tired souls.