The Secrets to New York

Six | Coffee

The days of October passed by quickly. Too quickly, really. I would give anything just to go back and relive those days now. (I know that you would tell me not to live in the past, but I just miss you a lot).

November came with the frigid wind I have come to know and expect from New York. We would bundle up in our large, heavy winter coats and go out and explore the city; our hands always intertwined. I guess it made us feel safer, or warmer, or something.

We always ended up in a book store or a coffee shop--we were just drawn there, I guess. Or maybe it was just you (I never really liked coffee; I always got a cup though. I still do). We would sit and talk for hours on end, trying different flavors of Frappuccino and you’d read me whatever you were writing--novels, poems, articles--you always seemed to have something new you were working on.

For you I said one day, handing you a poem that I wrote you (even though I’m not a writer and we both know that). You just read it, smiling so widely that I thought your face might freeze there.

I love it you reached across the table and took my cold hand in your own. And I love you.

I didn’t know what to say, no one had ever told me that they loved me before, so I just leaned across the table and kissed you. I think it was in that moment that I realized that I did love you.

I loved you and your beautiful, coffee colored eyes.