Coffee hit.

Good Morning 1 - a dark and strange poetic prose.

By amaliarosePublished 27 days ago • 3 min read

Photo by Palina Kharlanovich on Unsplash

creators note: Regarding AI - I stand with all creatives and eco groups against generative AI. AI is not used in any part of my creative process beginning, middle, or end. All punctuation, vocabulary usage and style was from my very beautifully human brain.
amaliarose

Coffee Hit

The coffee hasn't hit. Oh God, please don't tell them the coffee hasn't hit yet. It's easier, just blame it on mom brain.

That's science isn't it?

Yes. It's science.

They laugh, I laugh, and we laugh together. Together we are laughing about mom brain. Typos, delayed replies, misunderstandings, forgetfulness it's all boiled down to having kids?

Silly, because I know you, I know that I know you. We both know it is in fact not mom brain.

I think I threw up in my mouth a little bit. We know it's not mom brain.

No.

Has that been drilled into your head yet?

The coffee hasn't hit. The sleep was not sleeping.

And it wasn't the kids.

The sleep was not sleeping.

And.

It wasn't the kids.

Nails bitten too short. Down to the skin. An ache in the stomach like a stabbing within.

Jitters before it hits. Is this what it was like inside the head of the American psycho? The inner monologue before the snap?

That took a turn.

Yes that took a turn.

No more nails to bite.

Do they know what it's like? Do they know what it's like when the coffee does not hit?

Just like that the flow has gone. A brick wall. A barrier. A barricade.

We can't have meaningful conversations. We can't exchange a normality no not when the coffee hasn't hit.

Such a small thing. Isn't it?

Overthinking the idea that all the mishaps this morning are due to a lack of coffee. Yes it's odd. It's tedious.

...beyond the thoughts of a normal person. Are there normal people out there?

This really isn't going anywhere...you know. If there were an ounce of peace we wouldn't even be having this conversation— this process. We wouldn't have stooped so low as to make a mockery of a cognitive separation from night and morning. From knight and mourning.

Yes, if that were the case then the knight would save the matron. Then her mourning would end right away. A new view of the barista regardless of he, her, them, or they....

A knight. A knight in shining armor...a knight in a shining apron. Yes, that's it. Coming to bring the brew of salvation for the day. Far be it from ye to not function on nought.

Then. The coffee hit.

Yes, it did. And when the knight left without the milk yet again the matron deeply sighed. A sip of black to match her beating heart within.

Though...she didn't know if it were in fact beating all. The last time she felt it was the night prior.

When the beats seemed to escape a rule of musical theory..outside of time and rhythm. Yes it beat so fast and so hard she could slightly recall it...perhaps...it.

Yes, it thudded right out her chest. Yes the coffee hit and she remembered. She remembered what it felt like for rage to turn red and then black. She remembered that when she woke this morning the house was at peace. The kids had their breakfast, went to school.

Followed by more peace. A thick blanket of silence.

So much silence that she was suddenly aware there wasn't a single beat in her chest.

Then came the oops. The moment, you know dear reader, when she blamed it on mom brain? Yes, that moment when she laughed knowing that she did not have her bitter hot black morning drink. The moment she knew...something.

Something was amiss.

Her heart she did not miss. She sipped her coffee, again and again. A sigh of relief. A sigh of settling. That moment the coffee hit and kissed the soft echoes of emptiness.

end.