Every now and again, I prefer to drink in your words instead.

The huge destructive tsunami wave of missing you makes me imbibe cups of coffee again after years of being caffeine-free.

With the compilation of songs that remind me of you, now I sit inside the caff, reminisce how I always waited outside while you were waiting for your daily dose of caffeine inside. Geez, the indoor is comfortable, why did you never clue me in?

I recall one morning when you felt terribly sorry for my stomach upset after you forced me to take a gulp of your latte macchiato. On the contrary, I’ve consumed three cups of coffee by now and feel nothing. Is that because I’ve become profoundly numb after you left? Or is that because I’ve gotten used to the tremendous effect of butterfly inside my stomach you gave me that no amount of caffeine could beat that? Ridiculous.

The masochist now-caffeinated soul of mine defies the ache.


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