Love, Poetry, & Coffee

~ 15 ~

My head feels so light yet heavy at the same time. Like an automatic response, I place a palm on my temples as I try to force myself to stand up. As much as I want to stay on the comfort of my own bed, I need to be at least a bit productive today, and being productive means not tossing and turning around the bed.

As I saunter my whole tired body into the leaving room, the first thought that came up in my brain is, I'm still dreaming because there's no way in the universe that she's reading a book in the living room with her coffee. Have my eyes deceive me because it just woke up, or I'm actually seeing her reading a book. Squinting my eyes just to make sure it's an actual book and not just some rectangular thing. When I see her flip a page, that's when I actually convince that it's a book.

I try to step closer for me to read the title, but she must have sense me gravitating towards her, so in result, she places the book down on the coffee table along with her coffee cup. "You're up early," She mutters as she brings the coffee cup to her lips-her nearly dry lips.

"Have you drink anything apart from coffee? Perhaps water?" I say, ignoring her revelation of me waking up early. When she raises an eyebrow at me, I let out a deep sigh. "Well, your lips seems to look a bit dry." It was not my intention to, but I pull my lips inward in my mouth just to lick them. For her, it might look like an insult, but for me, it's just cautious that I don't have the same dry lips as her.

"I'm trying to fight off my caffeine addiction, okay?" She rolls her eyes as she sets down her coffee cup.

I shrug my shoulders then head in my way to the bathroom to wash away my morning face. Turning on the faucet, I gather enough water to splash it across my weary face. I've done that for 5 times-the third time I accidentally breathe as I splash the water to my face, making me drown myself for a moment-then grab my towel hanging behind the bathroom door.

When I head back to the living room, I catch her reading the book again. Slowly walking towards her, I only catch a glimpse of the title before she hides it behind her back. I already feel a bit irate, but I'm still not sure if she's reading the genre I think she's reading. Plowing down on the couch next to her, I do an attempt to snatch the book behind her, but she immediately pushes me away.

"What were you reading?" I frown at her not sharing her-what, I assume, is-newly bought book.

"Nothing," She mutters quickly, too quickly, that makes me think she already anticipated that question from me. "If you want, there's still some coffee in the coffee machine mug thing." I feel a hint of pain-surprisingly, it's just a hint of pain-from her attempt to dismiss me.

"Come on, at least just tell me the title of it, then I'll leave you reading alone," My voice in turn sounds like a desperate plea before I could even realize it.

She groans out all her annoyance in her throat, "It's a book about quitting caffeine."

It's a non-fiction self-help book. A book genre I deeply have animosity to it. I know it suppose to help a person to take care of themselves, but most of the time it just sound too narcissistic. Especially those that sends out, "If I can do it, you can too" vibe, it's just annoying. The target audience is selective, that I could agree, but there are just some self-help books that I just want to burn it down. It somehow makes a mockery about what kind of person I am while I try desperately to take care of myself. Plus, it sometimes doesn't give any good advice, it's just plain-old dumb. I actually much prefer seeking a therapist to help me with my problems than a book, except when the book was made by a therapist, then I'll allow it.