Three things I can’t live without…

Coffee, Creativity & Church

For coffee fuels my creativity;
My creativity comes from my worth –
A worth I only learnt of, going to church.

Rays of Sun baptismal,/
Glisten upon my /
Sol- Dazed epidermis /
As I /
Waft in throes /
Of Beauteous romance & /
Wax hypnotized by /
The sweet nothings of my/
Desiderata Materialista Transcendentalista. /

Resting in the algid embrace of /
The Hiemal Winds /
Atop my /
Voluptuary Ivory Tower, /
In this cup I, I savor the flavor, /
Of ambrosia stimulanté: /
—Rousing me with each sip, /
Of sweet deific nectar, /
Starbucks Pike Place with White Chocolate Mocha Creamer. /

The former barista in me, /
Waxes & wanes in waves; moreover /
The past is derelict, /
The future is nigh, /
The present is luminous /
As I /
Wonder Upon /
The seasons, the distance, the space, and the time,/
That separates me from mi amour, ~ a moment in time. /

(—Se’ lah)

I had coffee with myself from 10 years ago. We both ordered the same thing: a grandé white mocha.

As I sit down, I see the sadness in his eyes; the same sadness I remember all too well. I want to tell him that it gets better, but I can't bring myself to lie.

We both sit in silence, but the emptiness of noise between us tells each of us all we need to know. Finally, he asks me a question. "Are we married yet?"

I tell him no, we're still single, not even dating. When he asks me why, I tell him the truth: because I don't believe in love anymore; because I don't believe it can happen to me, so I stopped giving it out so freely.

He's shocked and disappointed. Love is all he knows. It's why he does everything he does, it's what makes him who he is. If we don't have love, then what else is there? What's the point?

So, I tell him that all the love I had left died when dad did. But he can't bring himself to admit how sad that makes him feel. He's too mad at dad right now for being unfair, for not being there when he needed him. He doesn't understand the sacrifices being made, the demons being fought.

After a bit of silence, he asks how Dad died, but first he assumes that he went peacefully, surrounded by family and friends, that we all got the time and closure we needed. He asks me if we ever made up with Dad and got along.

With a tear in my eye, I tell him no. There was no grand gathering, and no one got any closure. It was sudden and it devastated us, so I'm the provider now. He asks how I provide for two households. I laugh lightly and say that I don't. We never got to make our own life.

He asks about work. I tell him that we've been through some adventures in the jobs we've had and the friends we've made. There's a good amount of money, but it still sadly isn't enough for everything. So, he asks why I don't look for something better. I change the subject.

Next, he asks about our health. He sees the changes, the wear and tear on my face. Our health was something we were once proud of and took seriously. Before I can answer, he sees the monsters in my eyes. The ones I face every day. He's petrified. I tell him it's okay, we're making it. I don't tell him about the disease, the scary hospital visits, the testing and procedures that we go through. I don't tell him about 2018, or the darkness and trauma that comes with it.

I see a light in my younger self's eyes that isn't there anymore in mine. He's so hurt and longing for more, but he doesn't realize what he has; he doesn't understand true loss yet. He'd be happy if he'd quit being so stubbornly sad.

I smile a sad smile at him and tell him the good news: we make an impact, a real difference, in people's lives. Not many, but enough. That's what makes everything worth it. There's a lot of loss and pain, but also a lot of laughter. We become so strong and courageous that the monsters eventually don't scare us anymore. God becomes a bigger presence in our lives.

As my coffee cup empties, I bid him goodbye, and tell him to tell a better story when he's the one sitting in my place at the table. As I walk away, I feel a part of him taken with me, and I feel a part of me left with him.

Neither of us will be the same. But we'll be okay, because we have to be.

'Ciao'
'Salve!'
'Un caffe con latte per favore.'
'Un cornetto?'
'No, un caffe con latte.'
'Ah, un gelato!'
'No! Un caffe con latte!'
'Latte con zuchero?'
'Why you idiot! I'm asking for a coffee!'
'Scusa?'
'...'

I met my younger self for coffee.
That morning.

Only I never liked the taste then.
Like I still don't like the taste today.

I sit across from a wide eyed girl.
Dressed like she was attending a funeral.
With big dreams to become.
Everything they never thought she could be.

Her smile filled with hope.
With a single question in her mind.
"Did we make it?"
She's too excited to stay still.

I sipped the tea I ordered.
While she is served hot coco.
That reminds her of better days.

She thinks she knows everything.
So it's hard to tell her she doesn't know enough.

Her smile I know hides.
A million secrets.
She puts on a good facade.

It would **** her if I told her.
All things they did.
The men she met.  

Yet if I told her we went to a theater in london.
With friends we never thought we'd find.
She'd scream out with glee.

But it's not my place.
To mess with time and space.
So I saved the good stuff as a secret.

All I whisper.
All I can say.
"We made it out alive."

She stares out of the window in disbelief.
Wanting to have heard much better news.
I take her hands in mine.
"Your better days are still to come.
We have so many more dreams than we did before."

She smiles through the disappointment.
As her phone begins to call.
We still keep our phones on silent.
Because we never liked the noise.

I signed up for Duolingo again,
So when I grow old,
And I am weary of this mortal country,
I may take my aching bones,
To old Italy.
Where I will have coffee,
And read paper news,
That way the old game can't bother me.

Your fingerprints linger
on my coffee cup,
while the swirling latte foam
soothes me with each sip,
reminding me how much
you hold my mornings
together.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Rest did not come find me last night
Instead I laid wide awake staring at the ceiling

Now exhaustion sits on my shoulder
Smirking and taunting me

So I pop a coffee sweet
Bitter alertness rolls over my tongue

But exhaustion returns, a sly fox
Dragging my eyelids down, stealing my strength

So I take another sweet
This one just as bitter as the last

The day crawls by and once again,
The wold is getting fuzzy…

Another one swallowed
And soon, I’ll need to buy a new supply