[ WP ] A short story idea of a man who makes eggs for breakfast every morning but the story is told through the eyes of the egg pan and describes the emotions it sees in the man everyday

He is smiling, holding a woman close. They kiss, and she swirls away from my view. His smile perpetuates until the eggs are done cooking, and then he is whisked from my view, the eggs on a plate. I cool, and I know no more. 
 
 His face is gruff, and bags have formed under his eyes. His wife has already left, and he sips coffee from his usual mug. A note by the sink is noticed, which he reads and smiles at. I cool, and I know no more. 
 
 She is making eggs. Her actions are swift and cutting, and anger radiates from her actions. He slumps into the room, his metaphorical tail between his legs. He glances shiftily at his wife, and slinks towards the coffee maker unsteadily. He drinks it black. I cool, and I know no more. 
 
 He slumps over my surface, the bags under his eyes massive now. His eyes are bloodshot, and the spatula shakes in his hand. The background is different now, smaller and dirtier. Bottles cover every available horizontal surface. A similar bottle is held in the man's offhand. When the eggs are done, he heads to the table to eat, leaving the bottle against the wall on the stove. I do not cool. He finishes his eggs, and walks to another room. Hours pass, and I do not cool. The bottle against the wall is nudged by an argument next door, which fails to wake the man. A flame builds and builds, fueled by leftover alcohol and the broken dreams that float through the apartment. He does not wake. 
 
 It takes a long time for me to cool.
