Por el amor de café

Let no one tell you how to drink your coffee.

“Even a bad cup of coffee is better than no coffee at all.”

-          David Lynch

It is a shame if you never realized that you know how to make the best cup of coffee on this planet. Maybe even in this universe, but I would not like to say that, since I’m not well versed with the ways of the universe. And there is a great possibility that out there is some all encompassing power that controls how we make coffee. So, for now, let’s just stick to this planet and plane where we assume to have complete control over our affairs.

How you love your coffee is completely your business and nobody else’s. If you know how to live your life like a pro, then you can very well make yourself a good cup of coffee. You can brew it, boil it or even burn it! Maybe even sleep with a bag of coffee beans. You are your own sensei for coffee.

Don’t tell me you don’t like coffee. ‘Coz you do! You just didn’t give it enough time to fall in love. You never gave it enough permission to infuse its strength onto your taste-buds. Maybe you were too stubborn to let it overpower your senses. Just let go.

There’s the regular espresso and the latte. Take it with a pinch of chilli or infuse it with a cinnamon stick. Lap it up with some whipped cream or brew it with a little ginger. It’s happier than vanilla and potent with flexible magic. Just give it some love and pour yourself a cup. You don’t have to move mountains to deserve it.

Just do your part and let it serve you. 

Rise again

Drop 1

Osira stood at the edge of a cliff with her toes eager to take off. She could feel the wind sustaining her intention on her back. No shivers. No fears. Afterall, the wind could not be wrong. Her long black tresses curtained her face like a head covered before an execution. Whispers in the wind sang out to her and called her names for being a coward... in good humour of course. The dark curtain on her face hid a smile that screamed of dares and adventure. She was about to listen to her friend – the wind.

She nosedived. Neck cracked.

Blackout.

Drop 2

The wind was still calling her names while she stood delicately this time. The face was still curtained behind her wildly flowing locks. No smile.

The toes were curled and firmly gripping the edge. ‘Osira, you nitwit! Don’t you believe in anything I say?’ howled the wind. She slapped her back strongly against the wind. A broken neck was her recent trophy. With clenched fists and rehearsed dynamics she jumped.

Got swept away and hit a rock. Broke her legs.

Bloodied vision.

Drop 3

The wind felt somewhat stronger now. Not that it was. ‘There has to be a better way’, thought Osira. She leered over with her head hung low - trying to map her way down. Blood trickled down her hair. She loved watching the drops fall and disappear after a while.

The wind cackled and gave her little nudges this time. It was delightful to watch.

She had to figure it out right away. Flung herself over.

Crash!

Drop 4

This needs a strategy. There’s definitely a better way to do this. Osira is sitting with her legs dangling from the edge of the cliff. Stooping and wondering. There has to be a better way.

The wind’s name-calling is mere noise now. She is swaying with it. It soothes her muscles and numbs her pain.

She is observing the blood trickle down and disappear.

‘There is a better way’, thinks Osira while she is waiting to heal.

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