are you even tastier
than coffee
that i crave for you
even on nights
that i'm widely
awake?

i return to the world from my hours long sleep, leaving my bed still tangled in the tail end of my last dream. without even a chance to unstick my lungs from my back or wipe my bleary eyes, i shuffle towards the cabinet where i keep the coffee. i always have instant coffee – it’s not fresh, but the brevity is gratifying when you’re tired. it’s still habit for me to reach for this, but i put it back because there’s something better to come if i am a little patient.

you recoiling at the thought of instant coffee was funny at first, but i began to think why i continued to drink it. i wasn’t scared of the effort, but i couldn’t be bothered so i settled for what would be easy. but that changed the first morning i saw you in my kitchen brewing it for me. i couldn’t have been more in love.

the roasted scent no longer bitter and stale but fragrant, the espresso cascading over a cup of milk, delicately diffusing with the dairy in a loving long-term marriage they have always had. paired with your morning hair and sheepish grin, i doubted whether i really needed the caffeine.

i had never known coffee to taste this ambrosial, this good. when the warmth passed my lips it lit candles in the coves of every nerve in my body. you asked me if it was good and it was perfect. you said you’d make it for me like this all the time if i wanted and i wanted your coffee only if it came with your company. it was a good deal, you said.

soon i came to expect the coffee to be made and brought to me. i was spoiled by your kindness, which spoiled itself. you left the coffee machine and some grounds and other things to make it. it was never like yours, but i assume the taste would be off now if it was.

i turn on the machine, slowly awakening as my senses suddenly remember to do their jobs. the cream and sugar melt into the cup. it’s warm enough. it’s not like it was before, it never will be.

i throw away the instant coffee container, the last remnant of how things were before you. i can live in a post-you world comforted at least that something lives with me where you left empty space to die.

you’re here and gone in a flash, like the coffee i used to drink. a slow drip will see me through it all.

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up
I walked up the creaky stairs and made myself coffee
My favorite Dunkin Donuts cup, filled to the top with ice, coffee left out from the night before, and chocolate milk
I wiped the coffee off the counter and filled the dishwasher
I added salt to my avocado with eggs and toast
I sluggishly made my bed
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love
Not with the girl I talk to everyday on my phone
Or the grocer who always smiled extra long at me
I fell in love with my mother as she sat in my room,
Looking through each notebook, looking for all the signs
Dusting off the rainbow flag I never took out of it's packaging
I fell in love with my brother, who worked desperately at the construction site,
Making new things as he tried to forget I wasn’t there to say “How was work?"
When he comes home
I fell in love with my niece,
Texting my friends what happened,
Crying in the same room we laughed and had sleepovers in
I watched the family dogs,
Who pointed their nose when squirrels run past
I saw the empty space in Stella’s eyes
When she jumped on my bed to snuggle and there was nothing under the covers
I saw the coldness in Maple's heart as she searched and searched my room for me
How Mama cuddled into the blankets, waiting for me
I stood by as she protected my Mom during walks, just as she used to do for me
I picked the purple flowers and some dandelions on the side of the house
And put them where I used to sit in the woods
The morning after I killed myself, I stayed up all night to watch the sun come up
The morning after I killed myself, I went to the morgue and gazed at that body
Wondered if death was truly worth it
I carefully touched all the scars, all the markings no one ever saw but us
I told him about the avocado toast, the friends, the dogs, the woods, and his family
I told him about the sunsets and the brother and the warm blankets
The morning after I killed myself, I cried and cried

Coffee and writing sound very inviting:
sit, sip the roast, and write a few words;
by the end of the cup, all the words would add up
to a wholesome fic – it's a magic trick!

I always get up early. Early, early, early and it’s Saturday morning. So I scooted over to “Donut Crazy” and got myself 12 sugar donuts (and a selection of treats for my suitemates - I’m NOT suicidal.)

At 8am, I’m in the suite common area, on the couch, binging “Ladybug and Cat Noir” on my iPad and I realize that Leong, one of my suitemates, is sipping her coffee and staring at me like I’m a bad pet. I look around to find myself sitting in a shower of confectioners’ sugar speckles.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.” I disclaim.

A morning coffee--
  warming the cold body that
   longing without hug.

everything has its perfect ratio,
a little bit of this, a little bit of that;

I should've maintained the status quo,
instead of putting concentrated things,
and giving a lot more.

-Br.

I know they love each other -
I can hear it
from the room across; those

muffled, rambling
conversations -
She takes the time
to talk
and he
takes the time to listen - laughter.

I'm sure they smiled, together -

I know they love each other, because
I can hear it, from here.

Smoke curls from the cup -
it swirls and dances in awe

Sunlight shines from Her hair -

Golden,
golden, golden -

is this Heaven?
I like to think
this is what it must be

I sit in this Sunlight -
bask in it - and I think
Heaven can't be as pretty
as this