Love Letters and Literature

Soy Milk and Two Sugars (Edited)

Chapter art provided by memyselfandmars

Soy Milk & Two Sugars

Sophia

The light danced across her supple mocha skin like...

No.

Delete Delete Delete.

The water pooled effortlessly around her milky thighs like...

Hell no! Milky thighs? That's just gross.

I rub my temples and sigh bitterly as my tired eyes stare blankly at the empty cup sitting parallel to my computer, shamelessly blaming it for my inability to write anything good this evening.

I've been stuck on the same sentence in my story for thirty-eight minutes exactly now because apparently, I can't seem to escape coffee based analogies. Writers' block can kiss my ass, that's for sure.

"Clara, another French roast, soy milk, and two sugars please," I call out to the friendly barista I've come to desperately rely on since beginning my time at this university.

This is the closest café to my apartment, and since I don't have a car it's been a saving grace when I get cabin fever.

Clara gives me a nod of acknowledgment along with a flirtatious smile. Every time I choose this coffee shop I can feel the heat of her inquisitive gaze on me, but I try to ignore her obvious hints. It isn't that I don't think she's beautiful, she unmistakably is, my heart has just already been stolen by someone else.

Someone that is forbidden.

Trying to clear my mind, I take these moments of caffeine anticipation to stretch my legs under the table and fully absorb my surroundings.

I yawn and wiggle my fingers, my stiff joints cracking slightly as I do in true writers' fashion.

Powdery White snow falls from the sky, and I'm selfishly overwhelmed with appreciation for the Cafe's central heating system and roaring wood burning fireplace.

I wrap my baggy beige cotton clad arms around my chest and stare out at the deafening white as it plasters the streets in dangerous blankets.

Wow, I do not want to walk home in that.

My left hand instinctively moves upwards and rummages through my auburn hair as I lose myself even further to my own subconscious.

I'm only slightly aware of just how shallow I must look right now with my green eyes trained outside, but their stare seeing things far off and figurative.

I've never liked the cold, but I've always loved the winter time. Warm sweaters, hot coffee, and fuzzy slippers hold a special place in my heart. Being cursed with the social skills of a sleep-deprived sloth, I value all things reclusive and otherwise solitary.

Christmas has long passed, but bows and wreaths still decorate the lamp posts outside. The smell of pine takes its place in every establishment in the form of deep green candles this time of year, the upper-middle-class Caucasian population single-handedly keeping Bath and Body Works in business.

I know I'm part of the problem, but I don't care. Choke me on the smells of winter, and I'll go oh so calmly into that good night.

Most importantly, however, the spring semester is just days away from starting back up. My heart pangs at the realization.

Only a few more days until I get to see him again, but before I'm able to think too long about my own depraved fantasies I'm pulled back to a piping hot reality.