A Love Letter to Iced Lattes
For political reasons (and by 'political reasons' I mean my shameful addiction to iced lattes), this is satire.
To my dearest Iced Latte,
My sweet, tender love. It’s been some time since we last spoke. Too much time, perhaps. Yet your gorgeous shades of brown, delicate curves and icy embrace are still so intricately engraved into my mind, and I shall forever cherish the memories of those warm summer days we shared together.
I still reminisce our first encounter as though it were yesterday.
It was 7am on an unusually warm summer morning. I'd staggered half-asleep into one of the campus cafes with eye bags so large and purple it's a wonder they didn't require check-in for transport. I was exhausted and beyond hope in the midst of my exams. The summer heat had already begun to draw beads of sweat from my forehead as I squinted at the menu, searching ever so desperately for anything that shared the slightest resemblance with cooler temperatures.
Your name caught my eye as I aimlessly dabbed the sweat from my brow while dragging my feet forward to the counter. When the barista asked for my order I, dumfounded in my morning daze, replied with a senseless "Good thanks."
We shared a moment of mutual confusion before I muttered your name barely loud enough to be heard. But I suppose it was sufficient, for after a few moments of waiting in sedated anticipation, I returned to the counter, and there you were:
You were dressed in a clear cup (recyclable, of course) which glistened with condensation in the golden summer light. Caramel swirls of coffee entwined with shades of white as they danced around your icy diamonds. You were classy, sophisticated even, but there was a sense of danger about you as well, as though one wrong move could ruin my white t-shirt forever. Yet that only made you all the more seductive...
But despite being utterly bedazzled by your aesthetic, it wasn't in that moment, but rather, in each of the moments we shared after, that I truly fell for you. Engulfed with desire, I embraced you so delicately and pressed you to my lips.
After one sip - I flinched. Is this burnt toast in liquid form? I thought. But yet, despite my initial hesitation, something drew me in again.
After two sips, I began to embrace the flavours which danced around my tongue. There was a subtle sweetness there, and notes of something else... something magical.
After three sips, my heart began to flutter - This is magnificent! I thought. As I sipped more and more, you began to lift me from my morning haze. Then, without a moment's notice, you picked me up and carried not one, but two of my eye bags, as well as all of my other baggage, all the way to my first class. I sat there, jittering with excitement for the entire lesson. At least, I think it was excitement.
You gave me such life that I forgave you almost instantly when you decided to rearrange my bowels a short time later; a small price to pay for such an exquisite experience.
People tried to keep us apart, but their spite was no match for our love. Some said, albeit wrongfully, that you were not a suitable replacement for breakfast. I humbly disagreed, and, I should note, still do. Yet the protests did not stop there, for if those Boomers were correct in their ramblings, then I would soon be forced to make the bold decision between you and owning a house. But alas, I confessed that a house would not be a home without you by my side. With that, we spent the rest of the summer together, and I truly felt like we would never be apart again.
Young love always feels immortal, and we were oblivious to the fragility of it all. For in the months that followed, the temperatures declined. No longer did the summer heat beat me into submission, for autumn had arrived . The temperatures began to drop, and so too did our fiery passion for each other.
You became cold and distant. I'd try and reach out, only to be pushed back with cold jolts which sent me into panicked shivers. We were still together, physically at least, but the warmth had withered away. It was when winter finally arrived that we said our farewells. We'd grown too far apart, it ached my soul to admit, but being together was only hurting us both, so we called it quits.
By now, you no doubt have heard rumours of my time spend with Flat White. Their warm embrace was the remedy I needed to get through those cold and lonely winter mornings. But I swear, they meant nothing to me! They were a mere placeholder, and with each sip, I only ever thought of you.
Oh to spend another warm summer day with you! There is not a day that goes by that I don't miss you, and as summer rolls around once more, I grow evermore hungry for your touch.
I'm not ready to see you again yet, but I will be someday soon.
I need some time before we can meet again, but know this:
You shall always be my favourite summertime ‘food’.
A young millennial.
About the author
I confess, I don't exactly have a specific topic or writing style, or an organised train of thought for that matter. On the plus side, that means there's probably something here everyone ;)