Coffee talk

“Ever thought of what could have been?”

I lead my conscience astray as I watch the cars pass by.

He’s trembling. The grab on his mug fickle.

I gaze him, just to find his anxious eyes staring back at me.

I’m shaking too.

Damn!

“What for?” – I look away.

Silence

How the hell did we end up here?

I sip on the now ice-cold, oversweetened coffee in front of me.

I look again. Still staring.

Now it’s just ridiculously hard to think over the sound of my overactive

heart rushing

I reach out and grab one more pouch of sugar. Why?

“Of course, I did. What do you want to hear?”

What DID he want to hear?

“You see? That’s fucked up! Is it too much to wonder if I was the only one to suffer? Is it too selfish that I want to know that I didn’t cry my fucking self to sleep alone every day? Yes, I was petty. Yes, I was wrong, BUT SO WERE YOU! I know, and you can’t tell me it’s not true, ‘cause it is, I KNOW I didn’t create all these memories alone, I KNOW you have to have been at least a little moved every time you came here, and you wouldn’t be sitting at this exact same table if you hadn’t. I’m miserable, yes, but I refuse to admit you’re not even a little bit shaken by all of this.”

I’m in shock. Never would I expect him to be so outspoken about it.

I gag, with words stuck on the back of my throat. I have so many things, yet nothing to say.

"I’m not…"

"Not what?"

He gazes me. His look cutting me up like a knife, both confident and

insecure.

"Shaken." – I lie.

He knows.