I lost a friend yesterday.
Someone w
ho guided me through the toughest hours of the mornings. Someone who perked me up when I was at my lowest. It was my fault, really. I left my valued friend to his own devices and got distracted. Later, when I reached out for the comfort only he could provide, I realized my mistake.
Anxious to hold him again, I hurried down the hall to the room I'd left him in, but it was too late. My poor friend had become a casualty of someone else's careless treatment. To make matters worse, the culprit had tried to cover their tracks, facing him in such a way that I wouldn't see the mutilation. It worked. I was blind to his pain until I realized he was bleeding the needed elixir of life all over my hands.
I lost a friend yesterday.
Yesterday, someone killed my beloved coffee mug.
I know it's silly to mourn a coffee mug, but I loved that cup and the sentimental value it held for me.
What do you think? Is it silly or a normal reaction? Have you ever been attached to something that when you lost it made you sad?
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I have been a little low the last couple days and in desperate need of something to pull me above my current funk. This morning, a comment in a magazine article caught my eye and gave me a little push.
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