Something that is in almost every single American household; not normally given much thought. That spot on the counter under the cabinet to the right; the light from the hood of the stove illuminates it just so perfectly.
Coffee, to me, was a reminder of sickness and exhaustion; that little girl on the floor of the packed N.A. meeting next to the coffee machine with a fever of 103°.
Addicts like their coffee you know, if you've ever been to one of thoes places, a small room dimly lit. A circle of people all desperately trying to heal. The emotions that fill thoes room could make a grown man's heart bleed.
But coffee was always available.
I had never thought that, as a tea drinker myself, I would ever experience that camaraderie of thoes drinking coffee.
Till that day, and every day since.
I now understand why people love coffee so. It doesn't only warm you and give you the options of sweet or bitter, but it also beings together souls.
Our souls.
Something about the way he looks at me over that cup of steaming coffee like I am the only thing that matters in the world, is something I've grown to look forward to.
His double cappuccino steaming the window as the raindrops give us a front row seat to the ball.
My mocha simply happy to be in his profound presence.
Coffee for me, now, is a whole experience. It no longer contains that sick little girl, but the woman who feel seen and heard.
The heat warming my hands as his hands warm my arms, both so comforting and peaceful. A fluffy warm bed on a rainy day.
Coffee..
-Pandaish
