Coffeepot

There was a time during my second year high school days that we were tasked to write a formal theme entitled "Coffeepot," where we think of a noun as a topic, write a paper about it, then substitute "coffeepot" each time we use that noun. Let's try it now.

It's been hours since I should have been sleeping. It's been days since I should have done all my work, in the office and out. But until now, I'm still awake, unfinished with the tasks passed to me.

And all I can think of is this coffeepot.

This coffeepot is very special to me and to everyone else. It was nice-looking and fun to be with. We became good friends and spent great times together. I shared its sentiments over matters and even comforted it when needed. I did not actually measure the parameters of our friendship, but as far as I know, I became an outstanding friend to the coffeepot, to the point that I swore never to leave it no matter what.

This coffeepot had been the source of my happiness until we drifted away. There was a period that our friendship, if that's what they call it, died out. It was a slow process. We had an argument over a simple thing, and from there we started drifting apart.

I realized that I wasn't that important to the coffeepot as it was to me. And with that, I did not bother to mend the cracks.

It has been years since I haven't seen this coffeepot. And it was, in my point of view, on purpose. Even if the coffeepot calls my attention just to hang out with friends, I refuse to come. I had been using all my faculties to avoid anything that reminds me of the coffeepot to protect myself. Because whenever I remember it, I feel remorse and dissapointment.

We can not bring back what is over, and I have accepted that fact eversince.

Did I ever fall in love with the coffeepot? Yes.

Do I still have feelings for the coffeepot? I don't know.

Perhaps.