Cold Coffee

It was past two in the morning. Cold wind seeped through the gap in the living room window. She wrapped both hands around the cooling coffee. The heating pad had long since gone lukewarm. The sound of a train passing far off, a dog barking now and then. That was all. She took a sip of coffee. The bitter, cold taste stayed on the tip of her tongue, but she bore it and drank it all. Setting the cup down, she looked out the window. The edge of the sky was bleeding from pale to gray. A few stars still remained. Streetlight lay stretched long across the floor. She got up and opened the window. Cold air brushed her face. Morning was coming. She didn't say a word. She simply stood there, breathing the cold air, looking at the sky. That was enough.