Your coffee was framed

First sip. And right on cue, there's the tug. Your coffee isn't guilty. The mug and the cigarette kept showing up in the same minute, morning after morning, until your brain filed them as one event. Now the cup comes up and something says the other half is missing. That pull feels like appetite. It's only a habit of timing.

Look at who did the work all along. The coffee brought the warmth, the wake up, the little pause before the day. The cigarette just sat in on it and took the credit. It never made a single cup better. And it's pushing hard right now because it can feel you walking away from the table.

Beat it with one move. Pick up the mug and finish it somewhere else. At the window. On the step outside. Standing at the counter. The urge reaches for its old partner and grabs air. Every morning the scene changes, the link between the two gets weaker, until the cup is just a cup.

Pray it while you walk. Lord, this cup and this minute are Yours. Then take the next sip slowly and notice it. Hot, bitter, strong, complete. It was always a whole coffee. Nothing was ever missing from it. Now it's finally yours again.