Sunday morning, routine coffee mug full of hot, fresh-brewed coffee out of the 15-year old mr.coffee pot we got around the same time young me decided I like to drink coffee too. we sit outside on the deck that used to be filled with toys, now filled with tables, chairs, and adult-ish things as there are no kids that live here now. I sip on the hazelnut coffee my mom brewed; she remembered my favorite flavor after the one time I said it 5 years ago. I’ll let the sip linger on my tongue, praying the moment won’t pass before I allow it to consume me. my mom and I sit in silence, I think she’s sinking into the present too. we swirl our coffee in unison, knowing it’s getting cold because we have been savoring it for far too long now. we are in no rush to enjoy this cup; I would rather it turn cold while I find new ways to enjoy the present. it’s more than just coffee.