Interval.

Between the first tempting sip and the moment when the bitter, lukewarm remains quietly settle in a forgotten cup on a desk full of half-finished thoughts and papers that whisper of better times, there unfolds the timeless, melancholic interval that begs for an alarm—a rhythmic, almost poetic reminder of attention, of presence, of the moment when coffee still carries warmth and intention is still intact.

Because it’s not just an interval, not the aimless ticking of a clock in the background of a Zoom call that no one is really following; it’s a fragile, breathing organism of time, where the mind wanders from the warmth to the tasks, from the smell to the spreadsheet, from the buzz of now to the deferred pleasure. Every sip that’s missed is a lost opportunity for solace, for focus, for that small ritual that separates humanity from soulless machines—a sip not just for hydration, but for self-affirmation: “I am here, I am drinking, I am.”

And the variation in this interval—sometimes minutes, sometimes hours, sometimes a whole day as the coffee moves from friend to foe—is saturated with emotion. The quick sip of stress is an attack, a panic attack; the slow sip of peace is almost loving, an embrace of bitterness. And in that capriciousness, in that random pattern of forgetfulness, lies the existential tragedy of modern coffee drinkers: we want comfort but forget to receive. We prepare but forget to taste.

An alarm, so simple and so sublime in its intent, would serve as a metronome of attention, a siren for pleasure, a reminder that warmth does not last forever and taste fades like plans and good intentions on a Monday morning. It is not merely a ping or a vibration—it is an existential call: drink before it is too late. Drink before the world asks for something of you again. Drink because you deserve that little moment of human stubbornness—when you say, “Hold on, I’ll take a sip now.”

And so, dear coffee-forgetter, your alarm would sound like the voice of a lost friend, whispering through your earpiece: now, gulp, before the tragedy unfolds again.