The cup is warm on my hands. I cradle it and smell the burnt aroma. The taste is bitter and it reminds me of her. Always her. Soul as black as the devil and as sweet as a stolen kiss. All the kisses she stole from me...I take another sip.
One more cup of coffee for the road.
One more cup of coffee before I go to the valley below.
Can't get you out of my head.
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emotional labor
1 year ago
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