That Second Sip Of Coffee

You have your typical drunken eyes; can you still see them, in the photo? They've been like this since the day you were born. Everything has changed. But those two dark brown eyes which would twinkle rarely, they are still the same. You're still staring at the picture in which you're standing alone at that rooftop, the place, you've admired for so long. 

Scientists say, eyes are the only organs in our body which don't change in size from birth to death. Then why has the wanderer changed? Do you remember that day, when you climbed to the top of this building to look at Okinawa from a height? You were smiling. Why do you still wear that smile? Rather, are you even smiling? Your best friend, always points out one thing you keep repeating, "You know the difference between laughing and smiling, right”? In this race, this race which is making you forget your existence, the person you were, this very race has probably blurred your own power of differentiating between laughing and smiling. 

You've felt that warmth, haven't you? The warmth, when you hold a hot cup of coffee with both your hands in the chilliest of days in winter? How your freezing hands upon touching the ceramic warm up and create a transient fuzziness, and slowly and slowly, as that warmth reaches from your shivering palms to your thin, long fingers, trying to escape out from its tips, it fills your heart with satisfaction, sometimes pleasure. Love is akin to that feeling. You've felt love before. You always wanted to take her to the top of this building, right where you're standing alone in the picture, don't you? You wanted to show her the same Okinawa which you find beautiful only from this particular place. You wanted her to be your warm coffee, and your love, that fuzziness. It's gone now. You still talk to her, and laugh at the memories you two spent togeth...no, not together, you two spent with each other. You don't like coffee, you never did. You still see her, going out with everyone. Because you genuinely loved her, you wish that they keep her happy and she won't have to depend on you, like she used to, back then. When you cross roads with her, you look at her numb face, pause, and smile at her. She passes a smile back and you two rush past each other. You've moved on. 


It's a different year, it's been a long time since she left and suddenly while you were preparing for your role of a dead man you just earned in an audition, a hand places itself over your shoulder. You feel the same fuzziness, and even though, it was a hot and humid day, your body shivers a bit, just as the hand is pressed harder on your shoulder. You don't turn around, fearing it's 'her', knowing fully well that it can't be. Why is the aroma of coffee suddenly lingering in your nose again? Just as your heart pounds, she calls out your name, "Sora! Help me with this paragraph". The voice you just heard is different from the one you were expecting it to be from. It wasn't 'her' but someone else. You turn around adjusting your emotionally dead face - which would be perfect for the role of a dead man - to a smile and look at the person who just called out your name. She's pretty, isn't she? Your eyes make her appear prettier. As the aroma of coffee disappears, you reply to her and help her. Between your talks, at some point, you get lost in her words, in her. She continues speaking, not realising that you're not paying attention to what she's saying. You deeply look at her, incline a bit and try and smell her from a distance, "Is this coffee?" 

You realise, you were thinking too loudly and accidentally blurted out 'coffee' from your mouth. She's confused, but you continue staring, as you yourself are astonished. She passes the same smile you do when you're truly happy. She gets up and holds your hand, "Nescafé serves good stuff! Come Sora". You don't get up and then you're just there. Numb. It wasn't the scent of coffee, it was love.