The mug

It’s chipped along the rim in a way that guarantees a slow, inevitable drip down the side if you’re not paying attention.

I keep using it anyway. It’s the only one that feels right in my hand, like it’s already decided I belong here and is just waiting for me to catch up.

There’s a faded line of lipstick on the inside edge that no amount of scrubbing has fully erased.

Not mine. Not yet.