Once cradled by morning hands, in rushed commute, a paper vessel, unassuming, offered lost sleep's substitute. 
“Enjoy the Day,” scribbled sentiment, morning mantra, perhaps sincere where steam mingled with fading dreams, and chai spice danced like sparks on air. 
Here it lies on pavement’s edge, Starbuck's corporate logo-face, sunlight burned, fading print, while folks sail past her resting place. 
No conversations brew. Must hustle. Did stories once flow warm within heartbeats steeped, a steamy time, shared smiles and swirls of cinnamon? 
Now, it's but a fragile shell spat upon by raindrops wet, its message but an empty echo; does anyone still hear it yet? 
"Enjoy the day" as it passes find life's sweet contentment, even as I approach empty; with my usefulness all spent. 
 In every discard lies a story: of lives entwined, steeped with delight, teaching us to cherish joy and recycle remnants of the light.