She, beautiful as always, was sipping her coffee and reading the Sunday Times. The actual paper mind you because is there any other way to really read the Sunday Times? While I was sipping my coffee and looking at the highlights of last night’s basketball games on the iPad. One choice in media might differ but one thing is the same, our love for coffee. But Sunday morning coffee, there’s something different about Sunday morning coffee. Its aroma fills the early morning air gently awaking your senses as it eases you into a day where your only responsibilities are to laze around and try to conquer the New York Times crossword puzzle.
But you know what’s the best thing about Sunday morning coffee? It’s sipping on it while I sneak a peek at her, the one I love sitting across from me sipping on her coffee. She may appear to be in her own world behind the pages of the Times but every now and then she sneaks a peek too. Glancing over the pages of the paper she tilts her head slightly to the left and flash me that little smile that says I’m right here and yes, I love you too.
So, the next time you’re sipping your Sunday morning coffee and they’re sitting across from you take a minute to savor it. Because Sunday morning coffee is always better when you share it with someone you love.
Others shun your “type” and openly mock me for embracing you. You’re not as sophisticated as the ones they hang out with. What could I possibly see in you? You couldn’t possibly satisfy all my cravings? You are nothing but a cheap imitation of the ones they love they tell me. When I speak of the passion you stir inside me, how I cannot wait to take hold of you each morning they simply roll their eyes. After all no one has ever wanted to just sit with you for hours lounging the day away. You do not have a pretty name like Colombia Nariño or Kati Kati and certainly no one has ever thought to use words from the language of love to describe you, words like venti or trenta. But none of that matters to me nor does it diminish my passion for you. On the contrary, your simplicity drives me to want you even more. Because my dear street cart, large light and sweet, morning pick me you may never have the glamour of those Starbucks drinks the others love, but you will always be the coffee of my heart.