Coffee by Dona Barakah

Posted on April 23, 2012 by


Words of love had been knitted down on immortal skins of those who heard them. Whoever said them knew exactly where they were going. Like a pact, saying them once would seal up for devotion to eternity.

He told her “I love you.” as she was leaving their room. She smiled, not for him, but for herself. Nothing makes her satisfied more than these words. She heard it so clearly and sharply. Nothing would have made the 3 words sound hazy, but still she asked,“What did you say?”. She heard it again and louder this time,I LOVE you”. She couldn’t stop grinning, she lost patience of her teasing and faced him again. Had him all between her arms and enjoyed the satisfaction of being loved. Later on he was too busy to realize that she didn’t in real answer to his words.

Same as every time.

I don’t know how I was living. I knew places, but I can’t recall a phase in my life before her. I wasn’t always like that. Years before her, days so old they feel like a dusty book of my senile collections; I can rewind their feeling but it’s so dull that I only see colors of black and white. Back then I thought love was

nothing but a prank.

After I met her, I thought I went through something special, but this is how she treated everyone else; she pursued them into her utter affection, and they’re more than what a five-fingered hand would count. I’m just a slave, trying to understand how she’d have them all kneel under her altar; just to please her, and she delivered

none but a delusion of an embrace.

I fell for love. I fell for her; a wish I didn’t ask for. She came right through my path, took a look at what she got and decided to own it.It all started with a button being pressed in its right places. A stroke of a finger, trailing unseen traces; where my blood left all the places to go, and went there to rummage behind those fingertips. I don’t even blame my heart if it went through a trance after begging for more glue to our bodies. I must have felt close to that as I heard her telling me she loved me. That was a beginning for my body,but my mind had been through a lot before it dropped its defenses

under the mercy of her attack.

Out of the shatters that are left of what I used to call a mind, I recall a coffee setting. Our start reminds me of a little kid who used to wonder about the beverage. It smelled heavenly, and the cups they drunk it with; he felt he deserved them more than those giant-handed adults.Somehow no one ever regarded him with one, and so he slipped one cup out of the mug cabinet they were placed in, then crawled beneath the table to have a little privacy. Without the least hesitation, he took a mouthful sip, and a tiny fraction of a second was all it took for him to spit it out coughing. I still remember the ugly stains it left on my favorite white shirt. “It was a drink of the devils; not adults”, I kept saying afterwards. But at our coffee setting, I ordered a dark blend with no additions. What sweetness did I need, if I had all the delights

at an arm’s length?

Under the scent of those two cups we had, I watched her eyes lighten up with every sip she took, but she had full control and wandered my attention away. Suddenly everything I had been through feels pleasant to be complained from, and I wished for worries to magnify and inspire

me; so I can have her attention multiplied.

Even before I’ve noticed it, coffee became my alibi. I never craved it the way she did, but I claimed it troubled me to be deprived from it;the very same way it felt with her. She used to marvel at coffee’s blessings, and I used to write it all down as she translated my tongue-tied feelings for her. Afterwards, I stopped noting all the talking.I only watched how its bitter taste touched the sweetness of her lips; how its warmth covered her up – even though she hated warmth, she cherished coffee like her own lucky lover. That was a hundred of days before she started slipping away like a piece of half-empty porcelain cup. Coffee drinkers order for a refill even before they finish it. I had her all for myself at once,but devotions still got her blinded. Reasons still fail me every time I attempt

to narrate.

The only thing I’m left with is her dooming infinite memory with every daylight.I never was a morning person, but mornings seemed glamorous with her.I never spent a time with her in the sunlight, but I made sure to gather up the sweetest words as her eye-opener. I wished her mornings she deserves,and marveled at the lights entering her eyes; just the thousandth humming to

those prettiest eyes. I miss those eyes.

Countless are those day-times of coffee without you. Every morning I pour upmy cup and live the same love-affair you go through. I never thought coffee needed marketing; it’s either a love or hate emotion, a pure desire. The very same way souls speak through, but you enforced a campaign to your addiction.The touches, the smiles, the tickles your fingers left. All the pleasures in the world can’t yet count up to the first cup of coffee I had with you.

Posted in: Coffee