The pages of my favorite book
Are stained with coffee
But without those stains
I believe I would feel empty

It reminds me of a time when
We were together
Eating breakfast
On Sunday morning
And while I read silently at the table
You chortled at the hilarity of the comic strips
Which you adoringly called “the funnies”
Just because your grandpa did…

Sifting between the words I was reading
Were thoughts of how I wanted to capture
The ambient noise, at that exact moment,
And keep it with me, forever.

The pages of the paper turning,
The clink of your coffee mug against the wooden table
And your laughter.