Coffee

I have developed the gift of drinking cold coffee with pleasure.

I no longer have expectations in my morning cup of coffee.

I have learned to enjoy whatever comes, whatever happens, sigh, say thank you also for that which does not blossom along the way.

I love this brutal state of analysis and synthesis, I love my 31 years, it is the radical relief to so many preconceived ideas that are already left behind.

Cold coffee tastes delicious to me, I read happily on my cracked tablet, my broken heart seems precious and authentic, unstitched, disjointed, capable of folding into a thousand paper folds and still being able to float in the air when I dare to fly.

In my chest there is an origami that beats, transforms into a mystical paper crane, a heartfelt letter, a suicide plane, or simply, like today, it is a humble paper sheet, where I harvest and prune the thoughts of the day.

If my mind were a bonsai, it would be the most beautiful, cheers with my cold coffee, good morning, life of my life, let’s love each other beautifully and just let’s keep us in silence from this state of peace.