Christmas with Cups
The taste of the bitter coffee lingering on my mouth. The weight of your words weighing me down. The clouds of smoke hovering around me. I stay still, don't let it show. And you keep going on and and on and on; trying to talk me down. I sit in and take it all in, like I am soaking up the Sun. You dab your cigarette on the astray quite harshly, might I add. Now you're pointing at me, screaming all sort of names. Your hazel eyes raging, your words stinging. And I toy with my cup. The coffee sill close to the rim. 'Maybe I should add a little sugar,' I muse. But maybe, I should not. I hear a little shuffling and muttering. Then follows and eerie silence. I look up and find him making his way past the glass door. Then I see his latte with the rosette still firm. "Oh, Good Lord. What waste," I utter. I reach out and sip it slightly. "Mmm...It certainly never is bad." Thus, I sit with the two coffee cups and a Christma...