My airpods blur heavy metal,

My throat thirsty for caffine,

Like a wanderer in the desert,

But I’ve found my life source at last.

I stumble into the shop,

A tinkering bell my welcomer.

My cargos trail as I saunter in,

Lost in coffee withdrawal and music.

A slam to my face like a door in a fight,

Textbooks flying like cartoon stars.

Apologising, I lift them and ignore

Our touching hands as I pass him his bag.

But our eyes do meet and I realise,

On the beat drop of the song,

That the stranger is not that at all,

But a haunting ghost of the past.

He shoots me a half hearted smile,

Killing me with an icy glare would be kinder.

Pretending we haven’t met, don’t have history,

Like all our childish fantasies didn’t ruin us.

I pluck up some courage, force a smile,

Say my usual “Hi, how are you?”

But his reply is as ever it is,

A good and goodbye.

He pulls one last pathetic grimace of a smile

And walks doors, leaving me in the past.

Its where I belong, where he belongs,

But the coldness feels unjustified.

I stuff my books in my bag with a heavy sigh

And pretend my morning can improve.

And, approaching the counter, the lady asks

“Espresso on the house?”

And just like that I’ve moved on too,

Not wasting my time remembering a bitter past,

For who wouldn’t love a free coffee?

I’d meet him a thousand times for that.