Decaffeinated
I'm jittery and
depressed. I'm yearning and desperate. It's like waking up, wanting coffee, and
finding the pantry bare. You're gone.
My head hurts. My vision is clouded. My heart is as broken as dropped coffee
mugs in a Starbucks busy with anxious baristas.
Yesterday I had hoped that we could make it work.
"Really babe, I can change," I pleaded, knowing my words were empty.
You looked at me with the annoyance I deserved.
"Come on, please. We've been great together, sometimes. Remember that time
when . . ." but I couldn't come up with an example.
You looked at me with annoyance, again.
"Ok, I get it. I know I've failed more than the '69 Mets," a stupid
baseball reference that I knew you wouldn't understand or value, even as I said
it. "Bad example. My poor attempt at humor," I giggled, though my
laugh came out more like the hiss of an espresso machine spewing steam.
"What part of this is funny," she shouted. "We're on the edge,
John. Don't you get that! I'm tearing apart. There's a hole ripped in my sky.
We're burnt coffee grounds at the bottom of a pot. Focus, John."
"Yes," I said, as my smartphone buzzed in my pocket. I stole a glance
to see who had messaged.
You left the next morning.
Sure I'd been remiss, but it wasn't just my fault. I know with a third chance I
could improve. What I needed was high-voltage, cold brew to get my life back on
track, that's all. Instead, life kept giving me watered down decaf
about the author
Steve Gerson writes poetry and flash about life's dissonance. He has published in many journals plus his 11 chapbooks: Once Planed Straight; Viral; And the Land Dreams Darkly; The 13th Floor; What Is Isn’t; There Is a Season; Have Not; Who Am I Today; Dystopia; Grim; and Through Shadows
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the author the other half goes to expenses e.g. Maintaining the web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.
