Coffee

**I really like this story, I don't really know why. I hope you will too. ^_^**

In all honesty, I don't really like coffee. I have no idea why I drink it everyday, my feet drawing me to the sunny little cafe along my walk to work every morning. The only way it is slightly passable to my pallet is to drown it in cream and sugar, and it could hardly be called "coffee" anymore with almost 10 cremers in it. In my opinion anyway. Flavored cream perhaps? Hot sugar with caffeine?

In any case, here I am again, the addictive liquid clutched between my hands as I sit alone at one of the tiny tables provided. I want to remove my fingers but hold fast despite myself, my bones chilled from the biting wind outside. I still have a ways to go before I arrive at my destination but the wind makes me hesitate, the poigant moan of it keeping me glued to my seat like a coward.

Perhaps it was a status, drinking coffee. Lord, am I back on that? It's just so perplexing when I think about it, how I'm drawn so unwillingly to this cup everyday; having to shell out a dollar fifty for it when I could easily buy a lovely cup of hot chocolate like I was willing to as a child. But that's the thing isn't it, this whole aging process when you suddenly decide that the things you used to like aren't worthy of your attention anymore. Like hot chocolate, or playing dress up, or sweaty palms, and shy kisses. Now dress up is business suits and high heels, which ceases to be fun when you have to wear them every day to a job you chose but can't remember why.

No, I am trapped by this cup. It embodies everything about my life that I hate, leading me to something I know I don't want and yet can't turn away from. The heat of it is burning my skin and yet I still can't let go, my stomach grows anxious from the impending sip I know I 'll be able to take. The moment comes, I sip.

What I realize? All I want to do is spit it out onto the pretty linonium floor. I hate coffee, why hadn't I realized how much before? It's dark and bitter, no matter how much cream I add to it. It will always be that way underneath, and I hate it so much for that right now. And despite this I'm still drawn to sip again, compelled by the lie; helpless to it's power...

Lord, will you listen to me with all this? It's a cup of coffee for God's sake! I know I don't like it, I feel like gagging when I drink it, and yet I keep sipping even as I'm thinking about how stupid it is. I feel like standing up and screaming in the middle of this obscure little cafe, disturbing the other slaves preoccupied with their morning paper and cup of joe. "Are we all too far gone to realize?" I wanted to scream. "Are we all contained in these fucking cups?!"

I glance at my watch and realize I need to get a move on before I'm late for work. So with no outburst, no rebellion against this damned cup held in my hand, I walk out. The wind whips my hair, my heels click along the side walk, the cup burns my hands.