[Verse 1] I found the slip inside my winter coat, folded where the lining came undone. The paper had gone soft around the edges, blue ink running from a little rain. Two coffees, one with cream, one black, I knew your order without thinking. The booth by the window, table four— I can still see the ring your cup left there. [Chorus] I remember what you drank. I remember how you held the cup. But I can't call your voice back now, no matter how I try. I remember what you drank. That small thing stayed with me. [Verse 2] The date was written under the total, Tuesday, near the end of January. You drew a line beneath the word “warm,” said the room was cold by the door. I remember your sleeve pushed up, the sugar packet torn in half. I remember all the little things— just not the sound that made them yours. [Chorus] I remember what you drank. I remember how you held the cup. But I can't call your voice back now, no matter how I try. I remember what you drank. That small thing stayed with me. [Bridge] I used to think the years would keep whatever I was careful with. But a name can blur, a face can thin, and still the smallest details fit. I don't blame the days for passing. I just wish I'd known what they would take. [Verse 3] Today I walked back to the diner. The same bell gave a tired little shake. Table four was taken by a woman reading a paper beside her plate. I sat where we used to sit alone and let the menu rest against my hand. When the waitress asked what I wanted, I ordered tea and a slice of pie. [Final Chorus] I remember what you drank. I remember how you held the cup. I can't call your voice back now, but I don't have to make it come. I remember what you drank. I let the tea go cool. And when I left, I kept the receipt folded in my coat, like something true. [Outro] The bell moved once behind me. The door shut softly in the cold.
