blue coffee cup

A blue coffee cup sits on my desk, pale and solid. In its emptiness, its hollow white insides, there are marks of what has been but has now gone. A pattern of coffee stain like ripples of sand on the beach after the tide has departed. Like dried up rain on a dirty window which leaves streaks of unwashed darkness. Like tears of mascara on the face of a heart torn girl, she tissue dabs but the traces of her misery remain pale and solid.