I know that everything that would follow this statement may stand false to other coffee lovers like myself but I’d be backing myself up on this one; for sometimes it’s not about the coffee (even when you’re having one).
My morning coffee is basically my fuel for the day. It cheers me up big time every time I get to indulge myself in one. Limitless time, hot caramel macchiato, a novel and my journal; these are the key components of my favourite time of the day.
There’s something beautiful about the solitude you get to share with your favourite blend in your favourite spot with your favourite book. There’s nothing that would beat that kind of tranquility. Having said so, it is quite shocking for a coffee lover like myself to contradict the amazing therapeutic powers of coffee ’cause when that kind of “morning coffee” hits you… it will surely hit you hard.
When your usual morning coffee is not about the coffee anymore that’s when you know something’s up. The taste of your favourite macchiato draping all over the surface of your tongue is merely a ‘taste’; like pure water. You no longer feast your mind on the book you are reading but on to something else… something far stronger than your favourite macchiato…
I was trembling for I know that you’d be around. You’d be interrupting my usual morning routine with your presence and thus I can fully say that my coffee for today won’t be like the ones I’ve had before. You entered the coffee shop with your shirt and jeans combo. It was so casual it appeared so unusual to me for I have always seen you with your long sleeves ensemble but never with a usual shirt. I tried my best to calm my nerves down but I can feel my pulse throbbing through my ears. This is actually our first date. (If you could classify it as that).
To cut the long story short, we ordered our usuals and we sat and talked for hours. The time went swimmingly and before we knew it, the 10 that was frozen on my watch has turned a past 12 and we both must go. It surprised me having taken in a routine differently for in that span of time we were drinking our usuals, it wasn’t about the place, the time… the coffee. It wasn’t about your espresso, it wasn’t about my macchiato. It wasn’t about any of what was present.
It was about your light brown eyes and how the yellow lights seemed to have made them far more enticing than usual. It was about your constant fumbling with the book I brought and how you would accidentally create beats with it. It was about how your arm tattoos glimmered under the yellow shade. It was about your childhood; how you moved from one country to another. It was about your roots and how you seem to have never had that feeling of fitting in. It was about the ocean and French and yoga and surfing. It was about the colour of my skin and how it shimmers. It was about my dark eyes and how they seem to speak more than what my mouth is capable of saying. It was about fashion and travelling and food and how much you wanted to see me again. For that morning, it wasn’t about the coffee that we drank. It was about so many things far greater than ourselves and the space that was given to the two of us. It was about your soul and my mind, it was more than the space and it was far greater than time, it was when our coffee wasn’t just for ourselves but mine was yours and yours was mine.
And to be honest, it was the best morning coffee I’ve ever had.