SHORT STORY
Coffee
Filtered
I sunk my nose deep into the cup; the complex of aromas dancing around my consciousness, slowly waking me up.
The rain outside was persistent. Coming straight down, making a mist on the pavement that shielded out the world; the regular chaos drowned in the drops.
It made me think of her, standing under my umbrella in the rain, evading reality in the confines of my coat, looking at me through one eye, beaming a mischievous mix of love and scepticism.
She was happy then, prolonging the inevitable, prolonging the truth of some sick and distorting malady. Prolonging what we all prolong.
I let the thought go and returned to my coffee. I hated those stories. The ones that left you nothing but leaf after leaf of pining for the past. What happened happened. She’s gone. It was all too long ago. Life would be no different anyhow.
Too long in the past and you pervert it; edit and slice it with your anxieties and wishes as it loses meaning. And while you sit there scraping through the rubble hoping for some truth to guide you back to what you had before, for some hint that it might all be back again, the thought steals every moment you could be having. It steals every moment it can.
The cup was almost empty. And slightly cold by this point. It made me think of her. But I let it go. And refilled the cup.
The rain outside was persistent, but nothing much to be mindful of. The kind that would persist today, and then be gone tomorrow.
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