black coffee
my aunt makes authentic Bosnian coffee, and when she pours she never adds sugar to her own small cup. i ask her to make mine without sugar as well, but i am young, and she doesn’t believe me, so she’ll add a tiny bit in as what i think is a gesture of love. it becomes custom, when i arrive: the water is set to boil. would you like some coffee? she asks me, even when she knows i will always drink with her. a small cup, please. i don’t care too much for it, the coffee, the sugar, when she asks me would you like more? and i always say yes, yes. these are all gestures of love, a way to tell me: i care about you, and i want to give you whatever it is you ask for, even if you don’t ask. love spoken in the little things. when you ask me if i like coffee, i say only black, and only Bosnian.
