I hope that when you drink coffee you think of me savoring it next to you at five in the morning as we simultaneously smoke a cigarette.

I hope that the first taste on your mouth reminds you of mine as to when we used to kiss, and the taste of my tongue, filled with coffee and cigarettes stuck through.

I hope that when you hold the mug, it resembles to mine and you think of how I used to put it up against my nose and smell the fresh brew and smile.

I hope that when you finish your first cup you get up and serve yourself another and realize you can’t do that with me.

I hope that when you’re done with your third and fourth round you miss me, because I’m gone, and no one for you will taste like coffee and cigarettes at five in the morning with a spike of me.