Coffee.

I write about coffee because it’s easy and maybe it’s what I need to start writing again. I can scribble down quaint lines about how great coffee mirrors great conversation or great sex in our wish to revel in it forever. I could rattle on about how Starbies and Costa taste the same – burnt and bitter until copious amounts of sugar or syrup are dumped into it.

But, there’s more to this, I’m sure, beyond how the warmth of a cup unfurling into our hands charges us for the chaos of day break. Or, at least, more to this drivel derived from an idea of nothingness like how to fill a page without saying anything. This is what arrives after hours spent trying to extract a deep, philosophical, essay exploring the ins and outs of how we are to be remembered in death.

In the end, it was the instant coffee, lukewarm and milky, stood between the screen and I as a shield willing me to stay awake long enough to publish something worthy of this page or your time. Thank you for reading what forgiveness looks like at 2AM. Uncomplicated subject matter spilling out carelessly without the self imposed weight of higher expectations.

Maybe this reads as a stream of consciousness rather than a composed narrative, well written and derived from a meticulously drawn out essay plan. But, who cares? much like coffee, I’m just here to enjoy it while it lasts.