—the vessel that held everything for everyone, until nothing was left
It sat there warm, then just sat there,
A glassy ghost of morning care.
The stains ran thin, the drip ran dry,
A quiet sigh beneath the sky.
You tilted it, you heard the air,
The hollow sound of over-share.
Once full of life, of chatter, steam,
Now just reflection, faint, obscene.
The ring of use still clung inside,
A mark of how much time had lied.
You thought to brew, but couldn’t dare,
An empty pot can only stare.
You leave it there, the symbol’s plain,
We pour, we drain, we pour again.
📜 The Empty Carafe – The Recipe
Ingredients:
- 0 oz Coffee (emptiness by design)
- 1 Forgotten Morning (cool to the touch)
- Garnish: A ring of residue at the bottom, memory’s watermark
Instructions:
Wait until the coffee’s gone. Tilt the carafe and listen for echoes of use.
Wipe it clean, but leave the stain. Sometimes emptiness is proof of purpose.