The Coffee I Can’t Afford

I don’t remember when I looked into his eyes the first time. I remember another time, when we sat at a bar with my friends and he looked at me, and I felt it, his eyes on me, and I looked over. I looked into those beautiful blue eyes and wondered what he saw. I knew that I felt something and that I couldn’t quite put it into words.

I’ve looked into his eyes since then, and yet I still don’t know what he sees. I am a mess, unkempt hair, clothes that never seem to make it into the wardrobe, and I eat the worst food you could possibly imagine. Yet there we are, cuddled up on my couch watching the movie I’ve seen 12 times since January.

Part of me didn’t want to let go; there was something about that moment, where the world slipped away and the sound of The End wrapped around us. I felt something that I couldn’t quite put into words, and I still can’t. All I know is that the world just slipped away.

Maybe I should try to find the words; I could always find a way to write them down. Apparently I have a way with words, yet I find it hard to write about anything that doesn’t involve death. I can imagine writing a love story where the lovers are on crack and everything exists within their delusions, and they die at the end, together, happy.

So, in this moment, where the rain falls like bullets and I’m just walking down the street listening to Ultraviolence while drinking the coffee I can’t  afford, I’m going to think of the words that I want to say to you but get trapped within my overthinking, and then I’m going to write them down.

I want to walk down the street and hold your hand. I want to kiss you in front of a water fountain. Don’t ask me why, I just do. I want to kiss you in a bookshop between the crime fiction and biographies; I want to walk down the street with you, looking all hipster eating frozen yoghurt.

I want lie in bed with you, while it rains and thunder crashes as a record plays and we just listen, cuddling. Occasionally I will turn the record over, change it, but the records would be there next to us. Okay, so this is more about the image. The curtains would be open and the rain would hit the glass. We would be there, in almost perfect silence.

We could lie under the stars with a bottle of wine (just for me), laughing. Our hands would be between us, gently touching. I would look at you, you would look at me, and maybe we would kiss, or maybe, because I’m a tad drunk, I will start laughing. It will be the latter, I laugh when I’m drunk. And also fall over, but that’s a different story.

The point I’m trying to make is that I love you. I loved you when we were on the rock looking out to the water. I wanted that moment to remain constant, the sun to never set and for us to never leave, to just stay on that rock, with the world passing us by.

Of course these are things I will never be able to say out loud, and as the rain pours and the thunder hits, I will think these words. And when I finally see you, I will think them, try to say them, and maybe part of them will find a way out, but the truth is they won’t.

And I still don’t remember the first time I looked into his eyes. Maybe I will never remember, which is a shame. Maybe it was when we saw The Danish Girl. It doesn’t matter. Damn it, the coffee’s all gone. I could really use another cup.


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