We usually meet for a cup of coffee when the sun goes down. This is the time to reminisce about our day. Passersby ask me why we drink coffee in the evening.. And each time I lie different truths as if each evening would be a new reason for our meeting. Deep in my heart I know that I desperately desire to implicate even more secrecy into our affair. I wish that each meeting would be as if it is the last one, forbidden, sinful, mysterious, giddy, and refreshing as a cold water swallow in a dessert. I want to forget that tomorrow we will meet once again under the pearl pink blue horizon and will count each second before our meeting begins. I wish this was a unique moment, and it actually was.
And yet, like every other evening, you disappear a few minutes after the sunset. You rise softly as an evening fog without saying a word. Your touch silences the nature, the rustle of the wind. Time slows down until it stops completely. Your slow steps forward count my heartbeat until you disappear. Time gets up to speed again, the night and winds run high. Here comes the storm. I rise with the storm, take one dirty cup of coffee home. I look back. I cannot see your cup. It is not there. And it never was.