Over a cup of Coffee

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I’m sitting in Starbucks that is very familiar, with a complete stranger parallel to my seat who looks like busy with something in his laptop that I hear the clicking sound of his keyboard while me writing every words in my ever buddy notebook and full of pens at hand, with my ever familiar Peppermint Mocha Frappucino with extra whipped cream with so many thoughts running through my mind.

I didn’t used to drink coffee. I wasn’t always a fan of its rich, earthy taste and smell. It wasn’t until I graduated into “real life” status that I indulged daily on the beverage. But similar to red wine, it’s a drink that grows on you as you mature.

When I start liking of staying in coffee shops? I always did, I guess. I like the idea, however, the idea of enjoying the coffee, tasting the transition from hot to warm to cold to comforting. It must be joyous that coffee experience in your mouth, tasting every drop as if to separate the sweet taste from water to coffee. Sometimes, we struggled through a tasteless coffee until the last sip and find the sugar lying at the bottom. That’s life, always sweetened but sometimes not stirred.

I enjoyed every cup of coffee you served me. I never thought much on the drink because I never thought much about anything. But I felt everything. I may not have thought of what was in the cup, of what keeps me going, on what keeps me coming back here. I think the warmth of the cup, the smell of coffee and the chillness of the place was enough, and that I enjoyed very much.

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