The Temperature of Morning

While the coffee cooled, we said nothing. Outside, it was ash-gray as if the sky had saved its light for the whole day, and in the middle of it a single lit streetlamp stood blankly. The end of what he'd said yesterday still lingered in my ear and quietly stirred. In that moment when, instead of facing each other, we watched together the light outside tilting, my heart grew a little lighter though nothing had been resolved. On that morning when the bitterness of cold coffee went down my throat, even the fact that his thoughts and mine were in different places felt natural. The sky without a sunrise is still heavy, and we still don't fully understand each other. But the mere fact that the two mugs on the desk sat this close was enough for this morning.