I remember you once bragged about your favorite kind of coffee.
Caramel Macchiato, on that night you said.
I grinned, half laughed. Feeling surprised inside knowing it was my favorite too.
I love how they put two shots of espresso into that.
I’m not keen to a milk, so I chose macchiato since I knew they put less in that.
Two pumps of my favorite sauce beneath the surface, and on top of that.
You even loved to help yourself, poured the caramel sauce more than it should.
Since you know the barista well enough.
And now, as I look at a cup of my own...
It reminds that it was yours rather than it was my favorite one.
Because I’ve been drinking long black on these days.
To remind me how dense and bitter, yet addictive our story was.
