26.07.17
Dear July,
Today it is wet. Wet wet wet. And today it is cold. Not the kind of cold where you grab an extra jumper, or turn the heater up a bit more. It's the kind of cold that creeps through your boots and numbs your toes. It's the kind of cold that you can never get warm from.
I'm waiting for my class. I'm always early because I hate to be late. People walk through the corridor every so often, their shoes click-clacking and tap-tapping on the fake timber flooring. Outside, the construction is a distant Lynchian hum through my headphones. There is always something new to be seen here. Always something being built. Always building, never finished. And always inconvenient.
My coffee is going cold. It's because of the cold. Nothing can keep warm for long today. Today I bought a mocha. I'm not sure how I feel about that. It's sweet, but has a strange undertone. It's not bitter in the way that plain coffee is. I'm not sure. I'm also not sure about the name. Mocha. Where does that come from? A mocha is a chocolate coffee, but I see neither of those words in the name.
"Unsatisfied, uncertain, I am swinging again tonight in the park." C.W.C.
Until Tomorrow,
Xx
YOU ARE READING
Dear July
Non-FictionA poem? A letter? A time capsual? This project is somehwere in between. Inside you'll find the somewhat crytpic but mostly honest musings of a writer, artist and coffee adict. -- These letters are part of a long-term time-capsual project and are u...
