Coffee Table

The coffee table.

 Not just a table or somewhere to put things but an insight in to a life. The books, the magazines show an interest in a life beside your own. The coffee mug and cafetière tells me how you like your coffee. The lighter and empty wine glass with your pink lipstick marks still around it show me last night may have been a heavy one and that you still have your edge. I pretend not to notice it’s got something different on it every time I’m round. Sometimes your car keys are there and even though it seems obvious I know you won’t be able to find them later and will ransack your room for them. Often there’s a plate with a few crumbs from where you hurriedly ate your buttered toast this morning before running off to work. Sometimes there’s ring marks from where you accidentally put a cup down without a coaster and haven’t had time to use the flash. The bills unopened tell me there’s something you don’t want to face not quite regret but no pride either. Sometimes your earrings are left there and by them I can tell if you went out the previous night or it was just a usual day where you came home and put your feet up but found them digging in to the side of your head. The pen and paper tell me you were planning, making one of your lists full of your ambitions and the half eaten cookies show you had a comfort day with Netflix. I love your coffee table because it tells me what kind of day you have had and I can figure what will cheer you up.

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