brew

In this cup of coffee I have poured my hope. In this tiny sliver of time stolen from the luxurious commodity that is this day, I have pinned my fervent desire that somewhere between sips, somewhere in the haze of the Delphic steam that rises from this brew, something enchanting would occur. In the distillation of these beans, in the infusion of these juices long believed to be imbued with magical properties, an ancient desire will be granted: that in the span of time to finish this seemingly miniscule mug of coffee, a chasm would be filled. A gap would be bridged. Minds would meet, souls would be laid bare, and we would connect, and thus we become truly animate – in fact experience what it is to live, to finally grasp the notion: this is what we stay alive for. In words, in the thought behind the words, in the gestures wrought with meaning, in moments replete with possibilities, I revel in these.

But all too soon, the moment is gone. I gasp at how painful, how sad it is to be without these connections. And so, we are left bereft, somehow poorer, somehow hollower, for we have glimpsed at what it means to be complete, to be connected, and yet we are wrenched away from all that.

In this cup of coffee I have poured my hope...

In this steaming brew, I have pinned my desire...

In this infusion I have seared my heart...

Perhaps it is too much to expect all these from a cup of coffee that too quickly becomes cold, stale, and ultimately, bitter.