Coffe cup

She was a fly trapped inside a dirty coffee cup. He took his coffee sweetened, so her legs stuck to the bottom. She was a fly that he had to get rid of. Wherever she sat, she rubbed the dirt off her legs and the constant buzzing kept him awake. She found her way in through every little crack attracted to the fleeting light of his eyes. Her wings were never-ending stories of past exaltations. He slapped them with a magazine full of smiling faces and happy-endings. She became a stain on the painful whiteness of the cup. They say that hope dies last.