Lovely are the sunrises and paling darkness. The bed sheets retaining body warmth and the heat of a cup scalding hands.
Lovely are the airports and railroad stations, which remember thousands of stories and are the witnesses of fleeting dramas or fragments of happiness. The lovers with plastic cups in their hands in a small cafeteria on the second floor overlooking the luggage-dragging crowd.
Coffee is as red-hot steel injected into a gadget operator. It enters, hardens and strengthens the frame, because a long day lies ahead with the echo of buzzing wires.
Lovely is coffee in a thermos drunk when sitting on a cold parapet. A black and tasty beverage married with two cheese sandwiches. A laissez-passer to paradise.
Lovely are the eyes vis-à-vis, the brown flame, when a hand plays with the coffee cup and a fringe magnetizes you.
- Well, where do we go, your place or my place? – she would ask.
Nothing happened yet but she is already willing to give it to you.
Nothing is accomplished yet, it’s only under way, but you already know you will remember it even on your deathbed. If you happen to end up there.
Coffee brings about romantic mood. Shepherd’s plaid, a book by Coelho, and all that jazz.
Or maybe a fireplace. Or a small table and Parisian boulevards under rain. And figures with umbrellas. The cities of happy people.
And the streetlights that evoke so many memories and images. So many faces and touches. So many dreams and people we lost, good heavens!
It seems as if you were born yesterday and now the whole life has gone.
And these sorrows will be drowned in a coffee cup. And those others too. And those, which come tomorrow.
Everything pertaining to coffee is lovely.
Lovely are the olive-tinted Brazilians. The sound of coffee beans being ground delights the ear.
Lovely are the cups the size of a thimble. Sweets, nuts, cardamom, oranges and cinnamon.
Also lovely are well-built young men. Spicy maids are breath taking as well.
Coffee lust sizzles. Antiquated and time-stained wood panels in coffeehouses take you up.
A notebook and a pencil. Confession on a table napkin. Formula of love taken away with the paid bill. A ticket to the future, a visa, or MasterCard, depending on the person, for God’s stand-up party.
I love everything about coffee. Except its taste.
I like the curious design of the safeguard the Creator has incorporated in me.
Coffee is a direct contact with Him. If I liked the taste of coffee as well, I would be lost. I would then be in constant communication with Him. I am not for self-denial, when I jump into the deep end and see no point in stopping.
As for the rest… Everything pertaining to coffee is lovely.
But lovely does not mean all too often.
It may mean a lot, but not every time I turn around.
I finish my cup, pay the bill, bid Him farewell, and go out into the street, where the angry wind blows by that time.