Coffee

i look at you, looking at me, and you smile. it's amazing how time flies, but some things never change. your smile. the wisps of steam from the hot coffee swirl around your face. an aura of mystery envelopes it. again, another enigmatic smile, as you catch me staring deeply into your eyes. you look away, and say something banal. "how have you been?" i shrug my shoulders, my body language says it all. "what can happen to me? i'm awesome, as always" so much water has passed under the bridge. we stand on a different bridge now. even the river passing below is unknown to us. the conversation is sparse, cliched - it's at the point of being strained, but it's not. we've been through too much for that to happen. we can never be uncomfortable talking.

the sun breaks through some cottony cloud. the warm rays cast a benign glow on us. you know that as long as the sun shines everything's going to be alright. we listen to the humdrum of life going on around us, people rush past, people saunter past. its all about the past. you're only as good as your past allows you to be. the past means nothing if you don't learn from it. my past means nothing, for i have learned nothing. it's been a bittersweet discovery that i am what i am, and that's that - nothing changes.

again you catch me staring at you, holding the coffee mug with both hands, drawing strength from it. a sip, appreciating the goodness of the rich coffee beans, from the kenyan highlands. your eyes. i see myself in your eyes. i see my whole life flashing by in your eyes. you reach out your hand and touch mine. suddenly it seems all my life is focussed at the point your fingers rest on. nothing else exists, but that touch. every nerve in my body tingle as one, with a life of their own, and with regret. i sigh, and that breaks the spell. your eyes instantly alert, asking questions of me. i smile weakly, willing myself to say something, anything. i fail. i breathe deeply, inhaling the scent. the flowers in bloom, the aroma of the steaming coffee, and you. i hold both your hands. they are soft, feminine, exquisite. slim tapering fingers, with neat short nails, clear gloss on them. your left hand is slowly raised to return one of your stray, untamed ringlets behind your ear. the little gold stud there shines as it catches the light glinting off the railing on the sidewalk. like so many other moments before, this moment is gone too.

i stand, and come around to pull your chair. as you rise, you half turn, and i get a whiff of your floral scented shampoo. you smile to say thanks, and your pearly-whites flash. your arm brushes my shirt front, then you straighten my collar. time again stands still as you let your hands rest on my collar. i suddenly feel myself gripping the back of the chair. i tilt my head and feel the back of your hand against the day-old stubble on my cheek. that same feather touch. you step closer, i lean into you. those black-brown eyes are boring into mine, with a white-hot intensity. closer. and closer. i feel your breath, like a little cool gust on a hot, languid afternoon. i realise i'm still holding onto the chair. i also realise i've stopped breathing. in fact i also realise i don't want to breathe either. your up-turned nose touches mine, as your lips brush past. another brush. my dry lips feel like they've been baking in the sun. you're looking at me. i lose myself in your eyes.

it's a beautiful day to be out. it's gusty, but the sun is shining. i extract my arm from yours, to crack my knuckles, trying to restore circulation in my fingers still numb from gripping the chair. it seems the whole world is out today to celebrate the sun. we walk, almost aimlessly, my arm around you, your head on my shoulder. you look happy, secure. you laugh at one of my inane statements about life in general. its an honest laugh. from the inside. and we walk on, me rambling on, you listening and nodding, like we always used to do.