Jul 6
The sun hangs heavy like a drunk’s promise, and here I am with this cup of sugary salvation, cold; no steam rising into the thick air like prayers nobody’s listening to. Five o’clock coffee is desperation in a mason jar—liquid insomnia for those of us too stubborn to surrender to the day’s slow death.
The heat outside presses against the windows while I press this caffeine against my soul, fighting sleep like it’s the enemy, when really it’s just another small mercy I can’t afford to take.
