It stung when the coffee touched my lips. Hot, bitter coffee.
We used to sit outside coffee shops; Talking about a life we hadn’t quite reached. A life where we would travel the world, And explore every corner of the universe. But little did we know.
I seem to drink a lot more coffee now; Maybe because I want to remember, Or maybe because it’s the closet thing I have to not forgetting. But none of them burnt like this one did.
It was stirred with a spoonful of hope; Serve in a cup of remorse; Mixed with emotion; Heated on lust;
And it burnt. Like the words, “I’m sorry I did this to you” Or the kisses you left on my lips. They burnt too.
And like a burnt tongue, Even when the pain goes away you can still feel it.
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