coffee
We sat next to each other
because I had no courage to see your eyes
that have the colour of your favourite coffee
a cappuccino
you hate black coffee
which has a similar taste to life
bitter
someday I will become the milk
so I could pour myself into your life
and make it a lil' bit sweeter
It was a sunny Saturday in Salzburg, yet felt so gloomy. Half of my friends just moved to Copenhagen, leaving all good memories behind here while I was counting days before moving to Brussels. The central was busy as always, but it never felt the same anymore. As I wandered aimlessly near to Salzach river, something familiar invading my olfactory system. Little did I know, I was standing in front of my favourite coffee shop.
"Ah, hello again, young man! You're lucky today. We just restocked our Ethiopian beans. Perhaps, you'd like a cup of black coffee with it?"
Yes. Any beans were fine. At that point, it didn't really matter if they served any kind of coffee, as long I could sit in my favourite corner. I literally did nothing other than scrolling my Instagram account and sometimes gazing through the window. I saw a lot of Chinese tourists lingering around the street. I saw an old couple entering the bus while clinging into each other. I saw the memory of us entering the coffee shop.
"Here's the coffee. Enjoy!"
The loud greetings from the barista broke my enigmatic nostalgia. I didn't know whether should I thanked him or not. The coffee was still hot but I sipped it like tomorrow never came. I never knew it was that bitter. But it wasn’t their fault anyway, the coffee taste never changed at all. Maybe the last moment I had there was too sweet to be true.
"Anything else?", said the barista.
"Nope, that's all!", I replied.
I said to them how I loved their coffee and that was my last time visiting their coffee shop before moving to Brussels. Perhaps, I will visit them again this October. I want to sit there again, exactly in the same corner while sipping a cup of memory.
