Coffee
By stephen_westbourne
- 429 reads
She had just bought us two coffees
when she told me she didn't love me any
more. As she started to talk something
stuck in her eye; she rubbed her eyelid
as she told me. It meant she didn't have
to look up.
When she sat down I could see the
redness flare up - anyone watching
might have thought she was crying.
I looked down at my coffee.
Chocolate powder had been dusted onto
the surface of the milk foam in the shape
of a star. I wondered if they did hearts.
Or aeroplanes.
She started to talk about what we
were going to do - how things were
going to be arranged. I wasn't sure
whether to have sugar or not, the
bitterness of coffee is it's real beauty.
Now I watched her as she talked.
She'd recently been making an effort to
change her appearance. Her hair was cut
shorter, the curls straightened, heavier
make up had been applied - you would
see it under the dance-floor lights. The
earrings matched and I thought her top
looked like one of her friend's
selection.
I was wearing a blue, thick ribbed
jumper, one that she had bought for me;
she had chosen most of my current
wardrobe.
I knew I would keep these clothes
and wondered if I would always look like
her boyfriend.
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