the nowhere café

If we were having coffee, we'd have to hide somewhere no one could find us. Not for their sake; they'd probably be better off if they knew, but I wouldn't want to have to deal with the fallout. I shouldn't say that, though, it makes me feel bad about myself, so I pretend it is for their sake. We both pretend.

If we were having coffee, I would drink something else instead. Sangria, divine nectar, something like that. Something transparent and coloured golden, with a bit of fizz perhaps, and no sugar added and 100% organic fruit, something like that. Maybe it has probiotics in it; that would help, too.

If we were having coffee, you would take yours black, wouldn't you? And you'd keep on complaining about how bitter it is, while refusing to add anything sweet. You'd have to make fun of my drink for a while before you could justify adding sugar to yours, and then you'd dump in the whole pot, and revel in the dopamine rush of sweetness. And I'd wish I could care as little as you, because it's hard for me to see the ways you do care too much. It's hard for you to see them too, isn't it?

If we were having coffee, you would laugh a lot, and I would smile my sweet little secret smile.

If we were having coffee, maybe I could learn something from you. Maybe you could learn something from me. I know we both want that, although you would deny it, probably even to yourself. You always were good at pretending you knew everything. You pretend, and everyone knows it's a pretence, and you keep on pretending.

If we were having coffee, I'd feel guilty about it for weeks. Then I'd do it again, as soon as you asked. You'd say, "Want to meet at our table in the nowhere café?" And I'd say, "No. Is three o'clock good? See you there."

If we were having coffee, you'd jump right in without saying hello, asking the question you always ask, "So how are the Hordes of Heaven treating you? Any fallen angels recently?" Because I can never help responding, "You're the one with Hordes, and what a stupid question anyway, you'd know because it's your doorstep they fall to."

If we were having coffee, would anyone notice? Would anyone care? Maybe we both pretend we hide it from them for our sake, while pretending it's for their sake, while in reality it wouldn't matter if they knew. When people are at the point where our meetings would disrupt their worldview, they're generally also at the point where we could both be screaming at them and they wouldn't hear us. They'd watch us sip our drinks, note your wicked horns and my golden halo, and say, "Nope. That's not them. Nothing can shatter my carefully constructed bulletproof vest of borrowed ideas and soldered fragments of faith."

If we were having coffee, we'd just laugh at them. And I'd say, "Does next Tuesday work?" And you'd say, "I'll reschedule my tempting." And I'd say, "Don't shirk your duties for me, Lucifer." And you'd say, "I was going to shirk anyway, this just gives me a better excuse."