of having coffee with me

If we were having coffee #coffeeshare

A cup of goodness shared with a virtual stranger

An orange coffee mug

If we were having coffee together it would be at my house (I don’t trust coffee from the coffee shops around here maybe I haven’t been to a good one as yet *hint hint* but the few places I have tried the coffee tastes bitter and temporary like the Styrofoam cups its served in and I prefer to drink my own brew)  we would sit outside (the house is a mess, creativity thrives in chaos and would not want you to think I am more weird than I already am *talks to self*) Its winter here but the sun is shining ever so beautifully today, you would sit in the sun with me. I would bring out the garden chairs and tell you how I bought them at a bargain from my neighbour but to mind the wires sticking out would not want you to snag your outfit which I complimented you on (as well as your hair) when I first saw you  or worse get scratched. The chairs a bit rusty, you might catch something nasty like writer’s block.

We would have to wait awhile for the coffee mugs to dry as I had just washed them and they are out on the line drying (and I do not have any dish towels, actually I do but I could not find them) you know how in those crime TV series forensic detectives can tell that a murdered victim had company for dinner by looking at the two plates in the sink, well here they would think I live with an army of a dozen hungry bears)

I would offer you either coffee or herbal tea with cinnamon and honey served in coffee mugs labelled orange.  I would tell you I like mine black just like my soul and laugh at your horrified expression I am only joking I say and you laugh.  I pass a plate of toast and a jar of maple syrup, please help yourself I tell you and you notice the ink stains. Why do you have ink on your hands you ask me, I could not find paper I reply and giggle like a boy with a secret.

Between sips I ask you how it is going, the writing, I know you like to talk but that’s ok I am a good listener and I love your voice I could listen to you talk about anything and find it fascinating. After a little while I notice you have stopped talking and are looking at me funny. I am sorry I must have started daydreaming, my mind wanders, I was wondering if you dye your hair, you think I am staring, you ask if you have something on your teeth. I laugh and say you have perfect teeth like tiny white tombstones you giggle tell me I am impossible.

You want to keep talking about your book and I say wait it’s my turn now, my turn is a no talking turn, and pull out my journal, it’s black with a red spine and has the letter B embossed in the bottom right corner, read it I say.

I watch you read and refill my cup. I ask if you are going to finish your toast, you don’t look up you simply shake your head and keep reading. Eventually you ask me if I wrote this I say no my twin brother did it he is the writer. You laugh again and say liar you do not have a twin. You ask me why I do not update my blog regularly. I laugh uneasily, well, you see I am afraid nobody would want to read my silly musings or they make fun of my dreams (they are so fragile creatures dreams) I am afraid of critics and being told I am not as good as I imagine myself and also I fear trolls not the ones that live under the bridge and steal your socks but only the ones for the left foot but the nasty characters that live in the worldwide web.

Suddenly we notice how time has flown past I guess we were having fun. This was fun we should do it again sometime. I think you make a good muse I tell you as  I walk you to the gate and wave you off, oh I had almost forgot the piece you read in my journal I did post it up and give you the link on a folded piece of paper written in my clumsy hand how it all begun

I promise to try to work on my blog on a more regular basis if you promise to read it. Nice try you say and skip away. I sit in the sun once more but by myself now and the ink stain catches my eye I spread out my hand and read the message on my hand I really should not have used permanent ink.

paper for skin

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26 thoughts on “of having coffee with me

  1. WOW I had no idea you were a writer. This was a great read.
    This part really caught my attention…”I am afraid of critics and being told I am not as good as I imagine myself and also I fear trolls not the ones that live under the bridge and steal your socks but only the ones for the left foot but the nasty characters that live in the worldwide web.”
    Please do not let anyone ever steal your shine, do what brings you joy and if it means blogging do that.
    Love your work! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ncooo..for a moment there i felt you were having a coversation with me…lol this is a good piece! I at times wonder if anyone would ever read my blog but hey what the heck lets write anyway!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. B, I saw you had liked my blog and I thought let me have a look at the person who “liked” what I wrote. #Teabags, #coffee, I loved your writing! It is so refreshing..the way I felt reading your posts was the way you feel when someone is tickling you..couldn’t help but to let the bubble of happiness and pleasure shine through..

    Liked by 1 person

    • thank you for looking me up and of course reading ^_^ glad you liked it (almost i hope hahaha) as much as i did when wrote. I was chuckling softly to myself the whole time (ok not the whole time)
      ^_^

      ~B

      Like

  4. Pingback: Of weekend coffee share and thunderstorms | becoming the muse

  5. Oh B, that was beautiful! I thought for a moment that you were talking to me :). I saw myself sitting, eating, drinking, talking, and giggling with you. The scene just opened up with your visuals. Blown away!

    Liked by 1 person

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