Burnt Sugar, Mindful Calm

Last night, I found myself chasing the ghost of a kettle's clatter and woke to the stubborn echo of burnt sugar on my tongue. The floor looks like a gallery of mismatched mugs, a visual reminder that even the most organized plans can spill. I keep insisting that a single, lingering sip of charred sugar infusion is the universe's way of nudging me toward a slower rhythm, but my calendar insists on shouting at me anyway. #MindfulSkeptic