Ode to coffee

Coffee is comfort. If I really think about it, I’m almost certain that I don’t enjoy the taste of straight up black coffee. When I started drinking it black, I think that it was for lack of resources. I simply didn’t have cream and sugar. Gradually, it became an attempt to prove something to myself. I wanted to believe that I was capable of drinking the strong black liquid that so many others curb with fancy creamers. I succeeded for a while and reveled in the gasps of those around me every time I choked down a cup. By the time I reached the VAMC, I quite preferred black coffee. Then I ran into a wall. Strong stuff. Black as pitch and tasting equally as sinister. It required massive amounts of both cream and sugar to slice through and create a delicious, deceptively sweet imitation. I acquired a new taste for the latter, and I have not been able to break the habit. I now find myself growing tired of the same old flavor which I drink without fail every morning. What am I to do? Should I try to rediscover my former love of plain old joe? Perhaps I should simply switch up my flavored additions. I certainly can’t afford flavorful café creations every morning. Yet what is more certain is the fact that I cannot give it up. Coffee is comfort in any shape, form, or fashion. I would rather have the strongest, darkest cup over none at all. It just seems to make the world a better place.

Are you having a bad day? Let’s meet at your favorite café. Cold? Here’s something that’ll warm you up! Need a heart to heart? Girl, I know something that will go great with that slab of cheesecake... Coffee.