If I were to measure my day in cups of coffee
My mornings would be drowned in a bitter shot of espresso, the dread of facing another day of disappointment, black and lifeless.
My hour stuffed into the local train, nose crinkled in the air ripe like the smell of an extra milky latte, of rotting unfulfilled dreams.
Sleepy afternoons laced with a double shot cappuccino of acceptance, of life just the way it is - layered with an inkling of hope foaming through.
My evenings a spiced cinnamon delight - beautiful moments spent with the friend who keeps me alive - memories etched with the possibilities of all that lies ahead.
My nights would be snuggled in the warm embrace of a chocolatey mocha, comforting nothings whispered into my ear, wishing me sweet dreams before the cruel day breaks again.
If I were to measure my day in cups of coffee, I’d find myself with the perfect brew - with just a little spilt over to begin again.
- Shreya Shively
My mornings would be drowned in a bitter shot of espresso, the dread of facing another day of disappointment, black and lifeless.
My hour stuffed into the local train, nose crinkled in the air ripe like the smell of an extra milky latte, of rotting unfulfilled dreams.
Sleepy afternoons laced with a double shot cappuccino of acceptance, of life just the way it is - layered with an inkling of hope foaming through.
My evenings a spiced cinnamon delight - beautiful moments spent with the friend who keeps me alive - memories etched with the possibilities of all that lies ahead.
My nights would be snuggled in the warm embrace of a chocolatey mocha, comforting nothings whispered into my ear, wishing me sweet dreams before the cruel day breaks again.
If I were to measure my day in cups of coffee, I’d find myself with the perfect brew - with just a little spilt over to begin again.