“Let’s get some coffee.”
I utter that well-rehearsed line and sit across from you at the table, nervous, excited, overjoyed and totally terrified.
I don’t know why or how people meet for coffee, a drink that has no significance. I wish I could tell you how conceited this drink is, with all its complexities. And those people who fanatically crave for caffeine, who post bogus status updates, are all liars. I hate them. I hate coffee. I hate its taste and I hate its smell. It makes me nervous. Still here I am, with you, because I want to like coffee for you.
But what if I fail to drink my coffee? I think. I think too much sometimes. I overthink too, like ,what if I fail to impress you? I haven’t met a girl for coffee before. I don’t know the rules. Maybe that is the reason my world trembles even at the thought of it. Maybe, for some more inexplicable reasons, I have self-esteem issues, I cannot look into your eyes, I cannot talk without stammering, and I become dyslectic around you. Or maybe it is the coffee itself. Hot, steaming, bittersweet coffee lying on this table, making me nervous.
Even though many have tried explaining it to me, I cannot grasp the idea that is ‘coffee’. How anyone, no matter how deprived of energy the person might be feeling, can willingly fill themselves with copious amounts of an intoxicating substance—that only leaves them a craving for more, a bitter taste in the back of their mouth—is beyond me. And its musty smells hangs so thick in the air. There aren’t any good words I can attribute to coffee.
I guess ‘coffee’ is some kind of unapproved narcotic that spreads maddening, incomprehensible, hopeless feelings. Seriously, I can always feel it in the air when the scent of coffee is around.
