tom.st.george Cenote El Pit
“With a frown, he stood at the counter while stirring some sugar into his black coffee. He watched as it melted into the swirling liquid, dark as the deep pit in his heart. Oh how he wished he could just stir and melt away the things that kept him troubled in a coffee of his own. Then he felt a pair of arms sliding around him from behind and a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. Everything was lost in that moment. In that very moment, nothing else mattered. “Don’t you know,” she spoke with a voice that could calm a storm, “that each time you frown, a tree dies?” He let out a chuckle as he turned to her, “You meant to say a sigh, not a frown.” “It’s all the same if you ask me.” She then reached out her hand and placed her palm to his cheek. Gently, she rubbed her thumb across his forehead, smoothing out every stress-caused lines and wrinkles. She stopped when his hand caught her wrist, and watched as softness slowly took over the trouble in his eyes. “You are that coffee,” he said quietly, “My coffee to drown all the bad in me.””— Lukas W. // Forgotten Words #186 // Everyone has their own cup of coffee to drown their troubles
