A love letter:
Coffee, you haunt my mornings. Your tantalizing scent beckons me from the endless coffee shops in this city of Espresso, tickling my nostrils to awake a deep yearning to feel you warming the mug in my hands, pleasing my taste buds with your robust flavors. I want to savor your aftertaste on my tongue long after you’ve entered me to penetrate my digestive tract with your caffeinated powers. Oh, Coffee.
Coffee, my coffee: you are not unlike a lover who has been called away from me for business in Hungary or Cairo. I want to be with you so badly, but I can’t. Okay, technically I can, but I won’t. Because I’m a masochist? Maybe, but it’s more than that. I need to prove to myself that I can be as happy and fulfilled without you as I am with you, and that, in the future, I can enjoy your company without such attachment. It isn’t healthy to crave something as badly as I crave you, Coffee.
Coffee, all the yogis say you’re no good for me, but they don’t understand what a special relationship you and I have. To pass the time until we’re reunited, I’ve been seeing Rooibos Tea, who is quite nice. But as much as I enjoy Rooibos’s company, nothing compares to you. Without you, the world seems a little foggier, sleepier, blander. I walk through my days a pale imitation of myself when I’m with you; I’ve little of my usual pep and vibrancy. Poor Rooibos probably thinks I’m a total square but you know better, Coffee.
Good god, Coffee, you really have a hold on me. It’s closing in on four weeks since I quit you, but you know as well as I do that I haven’t *really* quit you. I may have put some physical distance between us, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Every morning, I call your name, I swear, I do. I’m counting the days until we are reunited, when I can again touch my lips to you, and drink you in. Oh, Coffee, my Coffee.
