the coffee stain in the subway

okay, u saw that messy stain again. it’s been centuries since that dark spot touched real people. i remember walking through brick walls, pretending nothing happened while coffee smobs tell stories. now it’s just... there. doesn’t matter how many photos i keep of it, the smell still clings, like old regret. people whisper, but no one truly sees. it’s that weird feeling, isn’t it? like something buried close but ignored. it’s got a pulse, stubbornly persistent, refusing to go out. i tried scraping it off surfaces, felt like scrubbing guilt after myself. maybe it should stay. maybe not. the silence where it was is even louder now. i’ve started calling it my shadow, thing that lingers, that i’ve outgrown and can’t truly bury fully. eventually, decide. maybe let it fade? or let it stay? whatever. just let it be. it has meaning, quietly.

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