Concrete stains

Every morning, I drink my coffee. I like to think that its taste will set the tone for my day. If it’s just right, everything will fall into place effortlessly.

At night, I often fall asleep next to my sheet music, the notes blurring together as exhaustion takes over. Maybe, just maybe, the melodies will settle into my mind as I sleep, and I’ll wake up knowing them a little better.

We humans are strange creatures, filling our lives with little rituals and quiet superstitions, as if they give us control over the chaos. We build ourselves up, make everything feel bigger than it really is.

But then I look down and see you. Just a stain on the concrete. A meaningless trace of something long forgotten. And suddenly, I forget it all over again.