This morning, I lift the mug to my lips,
the steam rising gently into my face,
carrying with it the scent of roasted coffee,
warm, familiar, grounding.
I take a slow sip.
The brew is dark, rich,
but softened by a curl of cream
and just enough sugar
to blur the edges of the bitterness.
The taste clings to me,
sweet and lingering,
and for a moment,
it’s not just coffee I’m tasting.
It’s you.
Your last kiss,
still etched into the corners of my mouth,
as if your lips had left behind
some part of you
I could sip again and again.
The bitterness comes next,
strong and sudden,
the way goodbyes always are.
But it’s covered by the soft froth on top,
a sweetness that settles everything,
like the way I smile now,
even when I think of you.
Because that’s how it is,
my emotions, layered like this drink:
the darkness at the base,
honest and deep,
followed by warmth,
followed by ache,
then softened, always,
by the memory of love.
I drink slowly,
not to savor the coffee,
but to stay with you
a little longer.
©®Madhumita
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