Emotion is something beyond the ability to define and perceive people, or at least to me. Sometimes, just what remembers so far away, is enough to make me think again and again. There are times when things like vague pieces, pieces, pieces of pieces come together, until they form an almost complete image, then at that time countless new sensations come back.
I sat on the 3rd floor of the library, right next to the window, looking out at the straight row and stunned. I remember the times when I was sitting up and up with my eyes up, to see hidden in the trees, the color of the sky was deep. The only regret is that I don’t have a clear picture, which image it came from.
Since I came here, I gradually quit the habit of drinking coffee. Because for me, coffee is not a drink, it’s something almost artistic of enjoyment. That is to say, there must be many other factors that make sense.
My house sold coffee and coffee all day. I like the feeling of opening coffee cabinets, inside is round, shiny black coffee beans, poking my head in and inhaling. Coffee flavor is sometimes very strong, sometimes very light, sometimes the taste of coffee is very sweet.
I drank coffee according to a so-called different style: dipping a spoon into a coffee cup, and bringing it to my mouth slowly, to feel the bitter taste at my lips, followed by the sweetness in my throat. Most of the time, I have not sucked all the coffee, the stone has melted. A way to drink very girls, very tight.
Cafe has sometimes a silence, a deposition. That’s when I sat in a rock cafe, amidst the harsh music, between the extreme bitterness of the black coffee without sugar, the image and the nostalgia for her. On the contrary, when cynical rock ballads in the ears, sweet milk coffee, still she was accompanied by feelings and nostalgia like waves rushing, screaming relentlessly. The different extremes turned me – cafe – and you.
Cafe has sometimes just pure joy. These are the common cafes with friends, whether in an expensive shop, or just the toads, the idyllic sidewalks. I still remember her when I was there (I sometimes miss her?), but the nostalgia blends in with the laughter, the warmth of my friends around me, forming a feeling that seems to be created only for me. It is simply my feeling.
Through this, I could not find silence and could not find pure joy when enjoying coffee. So I don’t drink. It was not because her image faded in me, or my heart was no longer going crazy when I thought about her, but perhaps, that very light coffee, selfish Saigon had secretly registered a trademark. And hold on tight in his arms.