A Coffee Date

We approached the counter, side by side.

I said, “Ladies first.”

And, with a trickle of a smile and just a bit of teeth, she said, “I’ll have a café breve.”
The words left her lips in a solid, confident tone, yet they brushed my ears like a whisper.

I must have ordered the same, because that is what I got. 

And we sat down in the plush brown chairs and she let her amber hair free from its tight bun.

And we sat. And we spoke. 
I spoke of nothingness, I’m sure. 

For that is what I remember – nothing. 

But she spoke of her dreams, her future plans, her summer plans, her favorite colors and why they were the prettiest.
She spoke of smaller things, like the weather, her chair and why it was so wobbly.
And though it was casual and carefree, I couldn't help but be bewildered by the beauty she bore. 

The simple beauty that hides behind closed door and open-mouthed laughs.

And we did this all as we sipped our drinks, gulping down the vague design in the coffee and steamed milk. 

And, setting down her mug, I noticed she’d left a smear of crimson on the edge.

And as I stared at the lipstick settled on the rim, I quietly took in the rest of our surroundings –

The frosted windows, 
The scent of fresh coffee and pastries,
The lonely barista, who was currently changing the background music CD from electro to smooth jazz.

And as the music began again, so did she.
And the whisper of her voice was like the whisper of the cymbals,
Ringing in time to the beat of the song.


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