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Suicide Note of a Chipped Coffee Mug

After you clean my shattered body off the floor and mop up my remains, you will find this napkin, slightly soggy and flecked with brown, with my final words scrawled unevenly across it. I know you are going to blame yourself. No, you are not careless. You placed me with such precision in the middle of the table, even taking the time to lay your pinky finger down first to soften the sound and cushion my landing on the table. No, I was not neglected, either. I felt so important to the start of your day as you held me to your lips, one hand wrapped lovingly around my side, the other gingerly tending to my handle. Some days, I was the key to a relaxing evening, your portal to a calmer, chocolate filled world. In return for my services to you, I was cared for. You washed me gently, separate from the other dishes in the sink. I was even granted my own towel upon which to dry.

But yesterday was different. You were in a hurry. Your lips did not brush against me as a smile formed. Instead I was shoved to the hole in your face and emptied in a manner entirely unbecoming of you. You sloshed me around the sink like I was some indestructible toy, knocking me against the common dishes in your life. Then it happened.

I chipped.

I understand that you took no notice right away. The noise was faint, barely audible over the clanking of other dishes. I hardly heard it myself, but maybe I was in shock. In a flurry of movement, you set me on the edge of the sink and was out the door, keys in hand. I like to think that had you laid out my drying towel, you might have noticed that I was not myself. I was flawed. I was no longer your top priority. It was then the loneliness set in. It was then that I realized I was no longer needed, that you no longer needed me to function. I am nothing more than a simple mug to you. I know now that that’s all I ever was to you.

Tomorrow I will push myself over the edge of the table. I know you will blame yourself for my shattering.Was it carelessness on your part? An accidental knock to the ground, perhaps? No, it was not you. It’s me. But, please, do not weep over me. I am but spilled coffee and broken ceramic on your floor.

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