January 22, 2016
I'm a mug. A little boy calls me "coffee" and much as I want to correct him, I can't. I am the color of sunset and oftentimes I'm left unwashed, forgotten on a nightstand. The same little boy points at me and shouts "coffee." Can't blame him, all that he sees people drink around here is coffee, and he has tasted some, to be honest. I'm a mug, though, why does this name mean so much to me, you ask. Well, what is the importance of names? Isn't it for remembering? Identity? So that someone won't be forgotten whatever happens?