seventy two hours

if we were having coffee, the last three days would not exist. three days, everything ruined. that's all it took.

if we were having coffee, yours would be black and mine would have mounds of sugar stirred into it.

if we were having coffee, you'd talk about your dreams and i would listen, nodding along. routine should not be messed with. i broke that rule, i know. which is why you aren't here.

if we were having coffee, you'd accept my apology. the apology that i've spoken two hundrend and thirty seven times, written eighty four times, and thought of more times than i can count. but you can't hear me anymore.

if we were having coffee, i could see your smile again, through wafts of steam. i miss it.

if we were having coffee, i wouldn't be sitting on the floor of the empty apartment, drinking bitter tea, trying to read the leaves gathered at the bottom of the cracked cup.