Over Coffee
There was a time
when darkness settled in my bones,
not loud, not wild—
just heavy enough to stay.
Days blurred into shadows,
and even the light
felt like it passed me by.
Sorrow lingered like a habit,
pulling up a chair beside me,
whispering things
I almost believed.
And then—
no warning, no grand design—
just a cup of coffee.
And you.
Steam curled between us,
but I barely noticed—
not when your smile
felt warmer than anything in my hands.
You sat across from me,
yet somehow closer than anyone
had been in a long time.
There was something in your presence—
soft, unspoken,
the kind of quiet
that makes the world fall away.
You didn’t chase the darkness out,
you simply outshined it.
And somewhere between
your eyes meeting mine
and the way you said my name,
something in me gave in—
not to the past,
but to the possibility of light.
The weight I carried
began to loosen,
as if your laughter
knew exactly where to reach.
Sorrow slipped away unnoticed,
making room for something new—
for joy that felt like warmth
spreading slowly through my chest,
like sunlight I could finally hold.
And my life—
it didn’t change all at once.
But it began there,
in that quiet moment,
over a cup of coffee,
with your smile lingering,
your presence wrapped around me,
and the undeniable feeling
that somehow,
without even trying,
you brought me back to life