The smell of stale coffee is flooding my nostrils as I enter the kitchen. The kettle sits on the stove, forgotten there, from a week ago.
You also left a week ago.
I left it there, not because I want to remember our last coffee together from that Thursday morning. From the two of us, I am the only one who drinks coffee anyway. I left it there because you were the one dealing with the little things. Cleaning, washing, keeping things in order. Not me, I deal with the big ones.