There’s something in my life I can’t live without. It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the only thing that keeps me going through the day. No matter how tired, drained, or overwhelmed I feel, it always manages to lift me up.
I’m obsessed. Entranced by the way it smells—sometimes sweet, sometimes bold, always intoxicating. It comes in so many forms, each one a little different but still perfect in its own way. Some days, it’s smooth and comforting, easing me into the morning. Other days, it’s strong and intense, just what I need to push through. And sure, there are times when it’s terrible—when people don’t treat it right, when they change it into something unrecognizable—but I always forgive. I always go back.
It’s with me on study dates, when I just need a little treat, when I want to feel something special. No matter where I go, it’s always a part of my day, making everything just a little better.
But when I’m without it? The withdrawal is unbearable. I feel sluggish, empty, incomplete. Like a part of me is missing. How did I let myself get this attached? Will I ever not feel this way? Will I ever find something—someone—who makes me feel this alive?
Probably not.
Because nothing—no one—compares to coffee.
And that’s when it hits me.
When will I be able to say all of this about a person? When will I wake up thinking about someone the way I think about my morning latte? When will I feel this dependent on an actual human being instead of a cup of caffeine? I wonder if I’ll ever fall in love like this—with a someone, not a something. I’m a hopeless romantic, and yet here I am, pouring my heart out over a drink. It’s embarrassing. But it’s also the truth.
And until that day comes—until I find a love that can rival this—I guess coffee will have to do.
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