A love letter to an old friend.
| The black liquid lets out a tower of steam. The smell that emanates from the cup smells both sweet and bitter. People have been consuming this for centuries, and will be for centuries more. It is referred to as black gold, black heaven, dark life, liquid life, and many others. I call it...perfection.
Although to get it to be perfect takes years of skill, and a steady hand, and worldly and philosophical understanding. Everyone likes theirs a bit different from the person next to them. I like mine with just a bit of sugar.
To some this is an addiction, to others, like myself, a way of life.
The hot liquid passes over my lips, and onto my tongue I instantly feel better about being me. I let it sit in my mouth for a moment savoring the flavor while I can. I swallow little gulps at a time letting the warmth run down my throat and into my stomach. It could be the middle of summer and that warm feeling is always welcome.
I feel my stomach becoming warm, that is when I know it is happening. It's wrapping its arms around me in its warm embrace much like lovers do after being apart for a long time. I relax and give in to its demands. It only wants to be my friend. It caresses me, holds me, assures me that everything will be okay. And it will be, just as soon as I finish.
Damn, I love coffee.