white mug of all beverages

I don’t remember whether I was hanging on one of those hooks,

Or standing on a shelf.

I do remember her taking me, looking at me,

I don’t remember if she put back with my clone-friends and went back to look further.

Anyway, she bought me, even though I was, still am, as plain as it could get.

I am round, but I also have my edges, just like her.

She took me home, to her hostel room.

She used to pick me up on most mornings, wash me, and take me to the ‘mess’-

It didn’t look that messy to me, that noisy hall, to be honest.

There were many other girls there with fancier mugs,

But she looked happy with me,

Every time she looked at me, I knew she loved me.

I kinda remember seeing a clone-friend there,

In the hand of another girl.

She used to put coffee in me, with sugar.

I sometimes got concerned with the amount of caffeine she was taking in.

Once a week she had black tea from me, with lemon and mint leaves.

She loved it, I could say by the number of times she went back on those days to get more of it.

She took me out with her, filled with black tea or coffee, on walks or to the lawn.

I remember her taking me, after filling me with lemon tea, to the children’s park, one evening.

There weren’t many kids about it.

Soon she was alone, but she continued sitting there as if she was expecting someone.

A man came, they sat and smoked together.

She threw the cigarette butt on the ground.

Then she picked it up and put it in me,

I think that was the only time she disrespected me like that.

I saw her throwing up on the kitchen sink after crying over that same man;

I am guessing it’s for the same man,

She has never spent time more quietly with anyone else while actually sitting next to them.

I remember her clicking pictures of me on swings and on flower beds,

As if I am a pretty fancy mug and not a plain white mug,

With coffee and tea stains on the inside.

One day suddenly she left me;

She almost took her with me,

But decided against it and put me back on that dark kitchen counter,

In that musty, gloomy hostel room.

I didn’t see her for months.

I missed her, and I knew she missed me too.

She did.

I realised that when she came back to get me.

Then she packed me into a box.

And after a few weeks, she opened the box and I found myself in a new place,

On a new table- not so gloomy like the old kitchen counter.

She wouldn’t let anyone else use me,

And she didn’t limit me into having just tea or coffee;

She put hot chocolate, pudding, soup;

But never again cigarette butts.