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Morning Coffee

by Sophia Scarpulla 2 years ago in love
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and her thoughts take off with the races...

Morning Coffee
Photo by Jen P. on Unsplash

As she sips her morning coffee, she looks outside into the alley way, wondering if her neighbors are doing the same thing, wondering what kind of life lies inside each of those little windows across the way. The weathered brick reminds her of the remnants of an old village, quaint and connected. She is tempted to open her window and hum a sweet tune, creating the possibility for some sort of connection. She lives in New York and she surely loves New York, but the verdict is still out whether or not she is made for a city such as New York.

Rose is a young women with an old soul. One who loves the words, "Good morning", one who loves those pure moments of reciprocated eye contact followed by soft smiles, one who takes a second or two to look up to the sky and the sun to just regain a sense of perspective and gratitude for the day ahead. She is a wishing well personified. Her chest swirls like restless winds as her thoughts meander from her maddening mind to her humble heart. She is a vessel of light as floating lanterns glow warm amber and vanilla. But then suddenly, she transforms into these heavy rains, stormy weather clouding her big brown eyes - eyes that make you leave you unsure, because they tell you stories. These stories are unclear, muddy, so hard to swift through. Stories that don't make sense to even her.

She looks down at the little bit of black coffee remaining in the bottom of her mug. "Wherever you are, be all there," the lip of her cup reads. She laughs to herself, and her breath begins to feel stuck, knowing that she is rarely "all there" - always five steps ahead, missing out on the five precious moments prior. Sometimes it is an innocent bout of day dreaming and other times, it is just her getting inside her own head. She refills her cup to the brim, but as she brings the mug to her slightly parted lips, she pauses, puts it down, and lets out a sigh that never seems to be quite big enough. It is like she is keeping something trapped inside, rooted so deeply, so stubbornly. What that something is, she still is unsure.

As she sips her morning coffee...her thoughts begin to run...off with the races they go. But unlike the races, where there is a finish line, her thoughts run endlessly, into downward spirals...into vivacious yet vicious cycles. Then her thoughts will suddenly slow into a sweet haze of him. Him. Her love. Her person. For the first time, she finds it hard to put her feelings into a words, and she calls herself a writer - a poet, besides. Her soul stirred since meeting him in the beautiful blue of winter and now her soul flourishes glimmers of golds and greens under the summer sun. Once upon a time, she coined herself as a wall flower and then she grew, into something more free, but still very lonely - a wildflower. She would look up to the sky, searching for a sign of faith, in hopes she would discover what her mama found long ago - the presence of God. And so she would collapse to her knees and intertwine her hands to pray. Tears made of stained glass filled her tired eyes and then she felt someone's hand touch her shoulder. A friend she will hold on to forever.

"Why are you crying, sweet girl?"

"How come everyone passes me by in the garden? Are my petals not pretty enough?"

"Oh no, in fact quite the opposite. Look where you are facing right now. Go on, look." He points up to the beacon of yellow beams in the cloudless sky.

"The sun."

"You see, sweet girl, you are a sunflower. You are always facing the sun. You choose to stand proud and grow tall in the light. Not many people are ready for that. And that makes you incredibly special."

As she sips her morning coffee, she recalls that moment and can not help but to think about him again. To think that this man picked her from all the other flowers in the garden. And now she is his sunflower, and he hers. He chose her. He chose the light. He chooses her - to love her with each passing day. They have that grow together type of love and man, is that sweetest way to love - to let your love grow...

Her gaze softening away from her apartment window, her phone rings the sweet sounds of "Lala Land"...it is him.

"Good morning, my love."

"Mmm, hello...I just called to say I love you."

She simply smiles as her thoughts lend her the silence and the stillness to let his sweet words sink in.

love

About the author

Sophia Scarpulla

Hello, Soph here! My only hopes are to inspire my audiences, make hearts lighter, and to spread a little more magic through the written word.

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