I love coffee, probably.
Nope that’s just not true.
I really do love you, her, I mean,
It usually starts at The Livingroom on Rosecrans,
A few shots of espresso over a light blonde roast.
She’s bitter, but I lover her bitterness.
I prefer no cream or sugar,
She doesn’t need my help to reach perfection.
I try not to,
But we interact on a daily basis.
Because I mean how could I just walk away?
The sight of her alone makes my palms sweat and
She’s a classic and I couldn’t go with out her, not
even for a day.
Unfortunately my love for coffee has only been
met with warnings.
How she’s not good for me,
How she keeps me up all night,
How she’s addictive.
But damn, isn’t she sweet.
I really love you, coffee.
17 years old