between white blinds

she can't finish a cup of coffee these days. no matter how big the mug is, or how full it is of coffee, she can't digest past the half-way mark. of course, she's never tried filling it only half-full at the get-go, but one would think that only logical.
maybe she likes leaving it cold and unfinished. her silent rebellion, a retaliation to the hold the unpredictable beverage has over her. she sips at it, and as its heat diminishes, only picks it up to feel ceramic beneath her fingers, teasing the contents but not drinking again.
she is sitting on her porch this morning, and the heat of the day has already reached its peak. still, steam rises out of the off-white, blue and black striped mug that is on an old, wooden chair, covered in cobwebs and dust, that she is using as a table. it is too hot for coffee, but she picks it up and nurses it like a wounded kitten. she is observing everything, but taking nothing in. instead of that tree, she sees a black and white photo; instead of that couple, walking to their cars, she sees a small boy dancing in suspenders and red socks. her world is infused with memories that choke out the present.
or perhaps she is thinking of sending her daughter a happy birthday card after 13 years of silence. who knows? after all, im not a mind reader. just a neighbor.