COFFEE
I drink coffee. I drink coffee because it’s like the rooster-call to my mornings. I drink coffee because coffee understands my need for a companion who is warm. And silent. A sharp contrast to an early December morning gust of breeze. I drink coffee because when it passes down my throat, I could feel my lover’s fingertips caressing the folds of my skin. Love is like coffee. Warm and refreshing till abandoned. I drink coffee because it understands my longing for solitude. I could sit with a volume of Plath’s poem and stare at the distance and the coffee won’t ask me what I am thinking. I drink coffee because it gives me strength. With every sip, I could feel drowsy, lazy, sleepy monsters rising awake in me. I like my coffee black, the color of my lover’s soul (I guess it’s hardly surprising that my love is bitter.) I like it strong, like the arms of my father. I like it well-stirred, how a stray piece of poem stirs up forgotten nostalgia in me. I li...