The Comfort of Coffee

I can see you don’t want me but I can’t do anything other than cling on. I hate myself for it, but I just can’t let go.

I wonder sometimes if we’d have wanted to go on if someone had told us how things would turn out? If they’d told us we wouldn’t love or be loved as deeply as we needed. If they’d told us we would cling to a pale imitation of mutual love just to have somebody to hold. If they’d told us we’d settle for a lifetime of something we would once not have even deigned to title ‘love’ just to assuage an unbearable loneliness. Would we have wanted to continue? Could we even have believed how sad and how lonely we would become that a mediocre love would become our only saviour?

Maybe we don’t understand the concept of heaven until our lives feel like hell. Maybe I only found salvation in you because I so desperately needed saving. Maybe in another time, another context, if the circumstances of my life had been entirely different and entirely happier; I wouldn’t have found the paradise I did with you. And I wouldn’t have known the devastation I did when things ended between us.