The mug, warm in my hands,
not needing to be a goblet
overflowing with grand ambition,
but simply this familiar weight,
this gentle heat seeping in.
The rain outside,
not a storm demanding attention,
but a soft curtain blurring the edges,
a lullaby for the busy mind.
The silence in the room,
not empty, not a void to be filled,
but a spaciousness,
allowing thoughts to drift...
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