midnight coffee;

christmas, coffee, cold

I held my mug with my two cold hands. The black coffee’s smokes rose into the air for three seconds before it disappeared. I watched the framed photograph beside the television set. You slung your arm around my neck before the flash fired. It was a natural pose craved out of being two free-spirited persons.

The front door opened with a creak. Your exhausted grin flared, but your eyes spoke some relief; I hoped the reason was from the vision seated before you. “The office overtime hours are starting to kill me,” you said. “Next weekend, do you think we can snag a vacation?” The grin turned into a smile as you sat beside me to remove your shoes.

I wanted to keep on staring at you, to memorize the way you moved and remember each single frame whenever I wanted and needed to. “I hope you’re here for good,” I said with a hoarse voice. You ran your thumb against my cheek and I rested upon your touch for a moment. “Please tell me you’re here for good…”

Like all the midnights after your death, your figure became a ghost who faded along with another strand of my memory of you.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.


let me hold your words before you leave;

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