The Chip
by clippedtrust
· 15/03/2026
Published 15/03/2026 15:22
Searching for clean,
my hand found it back,
a ceramic ghost.
The lip where coffee
used to sit, gone.
A crescent missing.
My thumb,
it traces the void.
Stale air from its depth,
no more warmth.
Just dust,
and the quiet of knowing
it's still here.