Tag Archives: Coffee

To Tea

Black, brown, with or without sugar
You pulled all the right triggers
Keeping our sleep at bay
Even on a cold winter day.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in
Sit down, I’ve got to tell you something
Now this may break your heart
And turn you cold and bitter

He walked in with a white cup, grande
A green lady in the front, and vanilla icing- Golden, sizzling, cold,
Smelling like heaven and stardust
And called out my friend’s name
Mispronounced, misspelled.

A little sip on said friend’s insistence
And I was transported to my happy place
Green hills, alive with the sound of the breeze
‘Twas then that I knew you weren’t my exact match.

An affair that started on a cold winter morning
I was cold, and it was hot
A tiny sip to remind me of sunshine
And little beams of heat
Went on throughout Spring and summer next
Till I found out I was addicted-
Addicted to your cousin, coffee.

It was supposed to be funny.
Was it? Or should I just stop trying?

Twitter: @wallflowerblack
There’s a cool challenge going on called The #BrunchBookChallenge where you’re supposed to read 30 books this year (2015). I’m taking it, so you can check out my progress, if you want. (And motivate me and suggest me books) Or participate!


The Tale of a Summer Crush.

You know how sometimes you look at a person and realize this is the last time you’re going to see them? You might have spent a month together. Sitting about two feet away from each other. You’re an intern, and he’s a fresher. You don’t really know him much. Yet you pay attention. His favourite book. How he likes his coffee. His favorite school memory.
Maybe he never shuts up. Talking to random strangers on the lift. He knows how to talk right, something you haven’t seen in the guys you know. He knows how to make them all comfortable, while he leaves you in a mess.
You know you can’t breathe with him around. It’s not because he leaves you breathless, but because he smells good. So good that you can’t help but smile, so good that you can’t think straight. He smells like the first rain of the year, or the flowers in the Spring. No guy you know smells that good.

And he looks beautiful. Maybe guys don’t like being called that, but he’s not some guy. He’s him. When he wears a clean shaven look, you want to tell him not to shave, even though you hate facial hair on men. It sounds funny to you, and you laugh. He looks at you, and you quickly look away.
He knows how to carry off a white shirt and trousers, and you know there’s nothing sexier than that. You want to punch yourself for staring, but you can’t look away. You know the time you have with him is a month, and you want to memorize his every quirk in detail.
On the casual Friday, you see him sporting a tee of your favorite band, and you wonder what hit you. He looks like a school boy dressed that way, the innocent child with the brightest smile.

When he speaks, you have goosebumps. You haven’t heard a better sound in life. When he hums, you want to hum with him, but you realize you sound like a goat when you sing, and it isn’t a good idea after all. So you hear him hum, and take in that music, and flow with it.

And that one time you sat right next to him in the cafeteria, eating breakfast, you couldn’t think straight. You could smell him, and it was bewitching. That time his hand accidentally brushed yours, you wanted to stop breathing then and there. It made you feel different, and somehow full.
And then you spoke to him for the first time. And funnily enough, he told you that his favourite book is a classic that’s been on your reading list since tenth grade, and you never read it. You curse yourself for that. You talk about Khaled Hosseini and Dan Brown. He hasn’t read any of it. You desperately think of another book, but the conversation has stirred to another topic you don’t have a say on.

The next time you see him in the cafeteria, it is for lunch. But he isn’t sitting with anyone, while you are sitting with your boss, who has nothing interesting to say to you. They discuss somebody’s wedding, and you zone out. He sits there all alone, and you have this urge to get up and sit with him, but you don’t.

You know you have to talk to him someday for your own peace, but you know you shouldn’t. You know everytime you think of him, you want to reach out and tell him things you won’t tell your girlfriends. You want to scream Marry me or sing Teenage Dream on top of your desk to him. At other times you think of doing things, even thinking of which might be illegal, and you blush.

You know all of this is crazy, because you’ve never had these thoughts before. You’ve never tried to guess the personality of a person by observing them. You’ve never deferred from logic, and given in to your senses. You have never made up pick up lines in your head or been any creepier. You have never had your pituitary gland taking over your prefrontal lobes or cerebral cortex.  Sometimes you were frustrated because he had that effect on you, but you knew it was too funny a predicament.

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Yet, you knew you don’t want to talk to him because it made no sense to you. You weren’t afraid, you are aware of it. You were just not interested in doing anything about it. You realize it’s just a crush, and it will go away. You realize that you don’t have the time or energy, and hence the willingness of nurturing a romantic relationship. You knew you had better things to worry about, and brilliant things to do.

He, you joked was the sun, and you his sunflower. You would reciprocate his every move, and without him, your internship might not have had a value. You were perhaps going through tough times, and he was the sun you waited for.

You realize how creepy it is to know these things about him, but knowing them makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. He might have been the food for your soul, because you know you feel full again.

But then again, he was your summer crush, and would give you memories to cherish a lifetime. He taught you things about yourself you didn’t know about you. Experiencing this was, certainly, like reading Poetry. It made you feel different.

 


Elements: Water

I’ve been trying to upload this since a really long time. But internet fails every time! Anyway, here’s the fifth part! I’m going to miss this so much. There’s only two more!

               Title: Cliché
               Element: Water

It was a little bit cliché, most love stories are. It was raining so hard, she could barely hear the whispers in the corridors anymore. Enticed by the smell of fresh grass, she decided to take the day off. Homework could wait. It was her day, and she decided to dance in the rain.

He sat at the window, reading. The rain sliding off the window, making his dark room darker, and shabbier. He held the black coffee mug. It sent shivers down his spine. He accidently dropped the cup, spilling coffee all over his light blue jeans. He looked up to realize that the rain was now pouring harder than ever. He put aside the book, for the first time in hours.

She quickly changed into a flowing white dress, her favourite kind. Her fiesty red hair, now open, her charm bracelet tucked away in the safety of her trunk. The hard beating of the rain inviting her. She couldn’t believe she was doing it. After five years, finally. She giggled at the thought of it.

He quickly changed into a black shirt and cotton pants. His hair as disheveled as ever. His spectacles lopsided. He was done waiting, it was today. The day he’d remember as the day he let go. The day he danced in the rain.

She ran like Satan was following her. After a few minutes, of jumping, hooping and running on the Quidditch Pit, she stopped and took a deep breath. Suddenly she had the urge to laugh. So she broke out, laughing like she hadn’t laughed in ages.

He casually walked to the place where he’d go. The place where he can be himself, fly above anybody else. Slowly gaining speed, he closed his eyes and ran. By the time he heard the laugh, it was too late for him to stop. He ran right into her and both of them toppled over, right into the ground.

She opened her eyes, her voice stuck in her throat.

He opened his eyes to find a ball of red hair, which he recognized to be hers.

“James,” she whispered, barely hearing herself.

“Lily?” he answered, unsure.

“Yes,” she said. “YES!”

“What?” he said, now confused.

“Yes. I’ll go out with you,” she said.

Because sometimes, you have to give in and do what you want to do.

Reviews, please?