Coffee

I stare at the coffee in my hands, breathe in its aroma that sends my head spinning in ecstasy.

When I’m happy, it tastes like a fresh spring day, relieving me of my burdens, taking with it all my sorrow and irritations as it slides into my stomach, out of sight.

When I’m blue, it tastes unnaturally bitter, as if taunting me of my mistakes, reliving all my regrets, replaying all my distress.

When I’m nervous, it has a stinging taste, as if stinging my taste buds to rev up my energy and boost my cinfidence for whatever I am facing. But sometimes, it just pushes me down into the sorrow pit even further.

When I’m angry, it burns my tongue and my throat, all the way down into my stomach. It has no mercy, and ignites my heart’s tinder, sending me into an even fiery state.

When I’m confused, it holds a peculiar taste that says everything, confunding me even more, like extremely minute wires squirming its way into my brain, sending compulsive surges into every part of my body.

When I’m hurt, it tastes bland, just like water running down my throat but weighs a lot more in my stomach. But sometimes, and only sometimes, my determination to stay upright causes it to cauterize the wound before there could be anymore bleeding.

My coffee has accompanied me through thick and thin, through highs and lows, and shared all my emotions. How about you?