You're the dark roast coffee I sip by the doorway.
I feel your persistent sting in the back of my throat, yet you still keep me warm- shelter from the cold.
You're the sun above my head with my feet covered in sand.
I feel beads of sweat gathering on my forehead as I encounter you again, your unforgiving glare from above, yet I still end up basking in your glow- relaxing in your summery weather.
You're the smoke that emerges from the red brick house's long neck.
I feel my breath becoming shorter as you float down the vacant city street, your smoggy air creeping into my lungs, yet I'm reminded of the smoke that poured out of the train I rode when I was a young child, savoring a candy cane as I watched the snow fall outside- the fond memory washing away the harsh air's burn.
I feel your presence across the room, scorned by your indifference towards me, glancing across the room to see if you're looking at me, disappointed once again, yet the way your brown eyes glimmer in the natural autumn light awaken the same flutter in my chest you once gave me that summer.
I feel my own hatred, inching up my spine and nearly overtaking the adoration that infiltrates my body, yet my mind instead paints a picture of the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh- my plan foiled once again.
