I’m feeling claustrophobic in this sink—a mug in the midst of unwashed dishes. I am not used to this, since I usually have my coffee, then my bath, and then I am put back in the cupboard. A fork to my left is poking my handle, and this dried milk and sugar is making me itch. From the looks of it, a second layer of dishes may come soon. Please don’t let it be pots or pans.
I was purchased specially from the bookstore. There are some important words on the lip of my brown interior. I know they give comfort. When I first came to this house, I would hear the person read them as I held the coffee. Now, not so much. Instead, I hear an anxious voice. The bowl behind me says that she is too lazy to wash us, but I think it has something to do with the words. They seem very important.
Suddenly, lights come on—our person has come home. She walks to the sink and leans on it for a long time, looking at us. Suddenly, she picks me up and reads the bold white font out loud. Then she smiles, squirts us with soap, and turns on the hot water.
Walk by faith, not by sight