Dearest coffee,
You seem to be the only reason I get out of bed in the mornings anymore. Lying sideways, checking for the monsters who must have crawled in and whispered memories of childhood trauma into the aches in my shoulders and back. Staring at the time, thinking of all the things I need to do, all the people to talk to, books to return, jobs to get done as sorrow curls up in bed next to me, none of those get me up anymore. It's just you. The thought of you, patiently existing, waiting for me to wake the house up with the smell of you. Not sunrise, not hope. Just you. You.
You make me sick, you know. I thought it would get better eventually, thought it would wear off over the years. Thought time would heal me, like they say. Thought maybe if I ignored it, the sick, it would go away, get tired, but it didn't. It didn't. It stayed and I stayed and you stayed and I think maybe "loyalty" is a godly term for "addict" because you tear my gut up, coffee, you hurt me inside. I'm sorry.
I love you, coffee. You know that, don't you? Maybe that's the worst part of all this. I do though, I love you. I love the smell of you, the sound of you, the warmth in my hands just to hold you. To kiss the surface of the mug. I love it. I love the touch of you before even taking a sip, just resting there in my hands, nothing getting accomplished, just a placid sigh released of another dream forgotten as the steam fogs up my glasses.
You wash the dreams away, coffee. The voices and hands, monsters and men, ghosts of cruelly kind words which should never have been spoken, you wash them away like sunrise does to night. You make me forget. You make me think in a higher vocabulary. You warm me, you wake me, you align my scattered thoughts.
It shouldn't worry you, should it? Every human being, as a fact, is driven by the burning plea at the core of their heart spelling "Love me. Love me, damn it." You are no different, are you? Of course you wanted to be loved, otherwise you wouldn't have tried so awfully hard. You would have started black and bitter. You would have stained my teeth. But you didn't, not until it was too late. If I give you a piece of my small, angry heart, you'll appreciate it, won't you? You'll treat me kindly? You'll soften my insides, make the day more bearable by the thought of you?
I know you're bad for me, coffee, but you're just so good. Tea won't cut it anymore, I don't care what the hipster poets say, they don't know love until they know you. Or -- wait, was that Jesus? I don't remember, through your grace of forgetfulness. Take the memories, please. Test my greatness. Take the softness from the voice, take the truth from the answers. Make it mean. Make it purposeful. Make it want me to hurt and then make me forget, please, coffee.
You're the only reason I get out of bed anymore.
You make me sick.
I love you.
You seem to be the only reason I get out of bed in the mornings anymore. Lying sideways, checking for the monsters who must have crawled in and whispered memories of childhood trauma into the aches in my shoulders and back. Staring at the time, thinking of all the things I need to do, all the people to talk to, books to return, jobs to get done as sorrow curls up in bed next to me, none of those get me up anymore. It's just you. The thought of you, patiently existing, waiting for me to wake the house up with the smell of you. Not sunrise, not hope. Just you. You.
You make me sick, you know. I thought it would get better eventually, thought it would wear off over the years. Thought time would heal me, like they say. Thought maybe if I ignored it, the sick, it would go away, get tired, but it didn't. It didn't. It stayed and I stayed and you stayed and I think maybe "loyalty" is a godly term for "addict" because you tear my gut up, coffee, you hurt me inside. I'm sorry.
I love you, coffee. You know that, don't you? Maybe that's the worst part of all this. I do though, I love you. I love the smell of you, the sound of you, the warmth in my hands just to hold you. To kiss the surface of the mug. I love it. I love the touch of you before even taking a sip, just resting there in my hands, nothing getting accomplished, just a placid sigh released of another dream forgotten as the steam fogs up my glasses.
You wash the dreams away, coffee. The voices and hands, monsters and men, ghosts of cruelly kind words which should never have been spoken, you wash them away like sunrise does to night. You make me forget. You make me think in a higher vocabulary. You warm me, you wake me, you align my scattered thoughts.
It shouldn't worry you, should it? Every human being, as a fact, is driven by the burning plea at the core of their heart spelling "Love me. Love me, damn it." You are no different, are you? Of course you wanted to be loved, otherwise you wouldn't have tried so awfully hard. You would have started black and bitter. You would have stained my teeth. But you didn't, not until it was too late. If I give you a piece of my small, angry heart, you'll appreciate it, won't you? You'll treat me kindly? You'll soften my insides, make the day more bearable by the thought of you?
I know you're bad for me, coffee, but you're just so good. Tea won't cut it anymore, I don't care what the hipster poets say, they don't know love until they know you. Or -- wait, was that Jesus? I don't remember, through your grace of forgetfulness. Take the memories, please. Test my greatness. Take the softness from the voice, take the truth from the answers. Make it mean. Make it purposeful. Make it want me to hurt and then make me forget, please, coffee.
You're the only reason I get out of bed anymore.
You make me sick.
I love you.
Yours, still addicted, unfortunately,
February
PS: This is really only addressed to coffee, I could never love a human like this.
I love you and I love this and I hope you know who has been leaving all these comments everyday.
ReplyDeleteI miss coffee and the school year and this made me really want coffee. I just want the school year to come back so we can do casual things together and be happy sophomores. I'm glad it's going to happen. You rock Shady.
ReplyDelete