#astoryaboutcoffee

X.o.X

Because, like coffee--

I sit in the cold, my hands ultimately getting numb as I continue to type down every word that my brain could process and every miniscule emotion that my heart could remember. Pain is nothing – pain, compared to becoming cold, numb, and forgetful – is definitely nothing of the sort. But, I recall every detail that had happened, every minute that had passed, every movement, each word uttered and how it was said. Oh yes, it is that vivid because I don’t pride myself for being a writer for nothing. Beside me, a cup of coffee grows cold as I wrote…

  I first tasted coffee when I was twelve, and I fell in love with its taste when I was fourteen. Since then, I couldn’t let a single day pass without drinking a cup. My high-school friends got mad at me in every single way possible just to get me to stop drinking it, and some of my classmates would get angry because I kept spilling coffee in random parts of the classroom, and its distinct aroma would fill the air. But I continue to drink it for the rest of my life, regardless if it brought me to the clinic more often, because there was just something about it that answered my every query, kept me company in moments of loneliness and basically just gave me everything that living, breathing people could only scarcely (in times of desperate need) provide me: which was, on more than most occasions, very and immensely frustrating.

            – How many cups have I had again? 

Oh, how furious he’d be had he found out that I went past my limit. Then again, would he care?