Faceless Love Saga 1: The New Meaning of Coffee

I used to love coffee - coffee in it's many forms: brewed from fresh coffee beans, instant with artificial creamer and sugar, 3-in-1 with the same artificial creamer and sugar, espresso mixed with fresh milk, brewed from old coffee beans, blended with whipped cream and all other forms of fat and calories they can think of. You name it, I'll drink it.

Until he came.

One day I woke up and found myself wincing at the latte I was sipping in that coffee shop. The coffee taste became tired in my mouth. Since then, I wouldn't even be tempted to smell what used to be a relaxing aroma for me.

That's because he came. He was very generous to keep me company all the time. Since then, I always had someone to talk to. He eats what I choose to eat, whether it's galunggong from Aling Oweng's or some over-priced curry from Prince of Jaipur. He sacrifices with me. If I have to stay up, he'll just be there, sacrificing some sleep with me. When I'm hurt over a petty fight with my husband, he'll endure all my useless complaints and would just listen. He's my husband's newest friend. He can also talk to him, you know. He walks me to the office, accompanies me while I labor with the pink slips, white slips, the nice clients, the not-so-nice clients. He'll cross the street with me. He will wait patiently until it's time to go home. Inever needed the comfort of a cup of coffee, the whole time.

He's probably the one who listened to me the most for these past three months. But one day, he left me. He vanished. I never realized that I was eating alone again. Going to the office alone again. Walking our streets alone again - just like before. The day after I discovered that he left, as if a switch was turned off, I no longer winced at coffee, nor its smell - just like before.

Now I bleed that I'm holding this cup once again and sipping this brown liquid, because it only means one thing: that he has gone.