I didn’t wake up planning to feel anything extraordinary.
It was one of those quiet mornings. You know the kind—where the world hasn’t quite remembered itself yet, and everything feels soft at the edges. The kind of morning that holds its breath as if waiting for you to decide who you’ll be today.
I padded into the kitchen barefoot, letting muscle memory take over. Mug. Kettle. The slow pour. That first inhale—the scent that somehow always knows how to wrap itself around the weary places in me. No cream. No sugar. Just the truth, hot and dark and honest.
And then I saw it.
Right there, floating in the surface of my coffee—a heart.
Not drawn, not carved, not formed by some barista’s fancy foam art. No. This was natural. Accidental. Divine.
A spontaneous offering in the swirl of bubbles. Fragile. Fleeting. Absolutely perfect.
And I just stared at it.
Because in that moment, it felt like the universe cracked open and whispered, “I see you.”
I don’t know what kind of magic lives in the bottom of a coffee cup, but I do know this:
That tiny heart broke something open in me.
It reminded me that love doesn’t always arrive in the ways we expect.
It’s not always loud. Or convenient. Or wrapped in a bow.
Sometimes it shows up unannounced—quiet, foamy, and formed by accident.
Sometimes it’s the shape in your coffee, the song that plays when you need it most, the way a stranger smiles at you for no reason and suddenly, everything hurts a little less.
Love—real love—is often missed because we’re too busy looking for fireworks when what we really need is a flicker.
I sat down with that cup and wrapped my hands around it like it was holding me. And I let myself feel the ache I’d been avoiding. The soft, bittersweet ache of being human. Of missing people. Of hoping. Of healing. Of not knowing what comes next and trying to be okay with that.
That cup didn’t give me answers.
But it gave me presence.
And maybe that’s all healing really is—learning how to be present with yourself again. In the quiet. In the ordinary. In the bittersweet in-betweens.
So if you’ve been waiting for a sign…
If you’ve been moving through your mornings numb, hoping something stirs your soul…
Maybe this is it.
Not the heart in my coffee.
But the moment you pause long enough to notice the one that shows up in yours.
Because magic doesn’t always arrive with trumpets.
Sometimes it bubbles to the surface when you least expect it—just to remind you:
You are held.
You are seen.
You are loved.
Even if you forgot how to believe it.
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