day 9

tem·po·rar·y

ˈtempəˌrerē/

adjective

1. lasting for only a limited period of time; not permanent.

-

hot chocolate.

smooth. creamy. rich. sweet. blissful and filled with childhood dreams. wishes of cotton candy sunsets and lollipop forests. of snow filled days where you can wander through a powdered sugar wonderland and feel the sun’s rays on your bare skin like cornbread baking softly in an oven.

just one sip and i remember those dreams. i remember those fantasies, when nothing else seemed to matter. nothing at all.

it was strawberry jam instead of acid blood.

it was swimming pools instead of salty tears.

it was oceans of blue instead of endless stormy seas.

it was nursery rhymes instead of calls into the night.

lonely calls. calls no one would hear. no one would answer. it was a pointless battle. and it wasn't even a battle at all.

because i had stopped trying quite a while ago.

i just gave up.

i try to picture forests. i try to picture those deep green eyes but it's been too long since i’ve seen them. they are faded, not much more than a memory.

and i know from experience that memories don’t last forever. they fade. they already happened, and they will never happen again. they are only pieces and parts of the past, the past that is gone. and what does it matter if the memories are there or not? it won’t change anything. i’m still sad. i’m still pathetic. i’m still a failure and i always will be.

i go out. the coffee shop sounds nice. it’s filled with different people with different minds and thoughts, all together in one room. we all share one similarity; coffee.

i think it’s cool. it's amazing how coffee can bring people together like this and how anyone can enjoy it. there are a million different ways to drink it, a million ways to serve it and a million places coffee can call home.

so for now, i sit alone by a wooden table, stained with coffee rings and scratches from all the customers who’ve come here before. it’s history. it's…. memories.

but those don’t matter to me.

right?

-

i swirl the foam around my teaspoon, waiting for each grain of sugar to dissolve and each ripple of cream to soothingly melt inside the cup. i love the sound of the spoon tapping against ceramic, the delicate sip and swallow that only i can hear, the hot and pungent flavor flowing through my body and warming it.

it's relaxing. it’s addicting. it’s my drug, in some way.

and then the little brass bell above the doorframe chimes, and the door closes, and i look up. and there he is, notebook in hand and no books. not yet.

it's only 8 in the morning. connor must come to get coffee, then take it to the library, and who knows where the bus leads.

i feel intrigued. for whatever reason, i want to learn more. i want to know where that bus takes him.

he takes his coffee cup, smiling at the woman behind the counter. and then they lock with mine. his eyes.

and suddenly, i remember.

i remember why they calmed me. i remember what it felt like to have them on me, eating up me personal space in some beautiful way even though he wasn’t close to me at all.

but it felt like he had gotten inside my head.

it was that weird connection. where did it come from? i don’t know. and i might never know. but it comforts me, and just in that moment, i let it. and i don’t ask questions.

i just sipped my coffee.

and he sipped his.

i was

ok.

but like always, it was temporary.