Stepping out of an indulgent, rushing river is easier said than done. Though you crave for the shore, the madness pulls you right back in. It engulfs you. It drowns you. It is everywhere, your new reality. You are not made for the rushing river, you never were, it was only a necessary indulgence. Yet, you long for the wetness.
Bitter is real.
It is an absence of obvious emotions and easy translations. Bitter is the substance beneath the fluff. It is the body beneath the clothes. It is the hold of an open hand. Coffee is its purest without milk and sugar. Its reality shrouded in black, in its true form. You crave for its honesty and its utter lack of pretense. You crave for the basics, its fundamental strength.
Bitter is beautiful.
It is an excruciating ride, to discover how heady can the bitter get – for you choose the flavor and the flavor chooses you. If it does not, you step away. The sip taken cannot be returned. Cradling of the cup cannot be undone. Your eyes keep glancing over, wondering whether you missed something. Wondering, whether what you remember has evolved over time. All that remains, is the lingering taste.