Coffee I love you, but Stahp.

Dear Coffee,
We’ve always had a bit of a rough relationship, you were often too bitter for me, but I sometimes sought you out for an odd secondary trait you possessed as a flavour, which seemed mildly enjoyable past the fact you were a tart and biting sort.
I hated the smell of you, that sounds so callous of me, but the smell you emitted was so strong that I had to be careful of it in the morning when I was extra sensitive, or I would desire to ‘lose my biscuits’. Despite this, I decided you were nice enough, at least when you were dressed in the ‘correct’ pre-prepared ways.
Then I realized that although I was okay with the narrow ways I could enjoy you, I wanted you mostly for how others saw you: delectable in a way I didn’t find you, helpful in being wakeful in a way I didn’t experience, and adult-oriented in a way that was accessible to me while I was seeking to establish what was changing about me during my gangly adolescent shifts away from childhood.
So I decided that you weren’t really worthwhile, and we parted ways for many years.

I married someone who had been quite enthused about you, and rediscovered that although I still only enjoyed your company in very narrow ways, that I could actually expand my sensory enjoyment, and maybe slowly learn to like you more.
My palate had shifted some, and I discovered that I could more easily taste that background flavour I had enjoyed, sure you were bitter, but you had a sweet side. Your scent bothered me a little less, and I thought maybe we could get along.
Then I discovered that my experience of your flavours wasn’t the only thing that had changed about our interactions. The caffeine you carried with you, which had always seemed innocuous, now impacted me strongly. Negatively.
At first I wasn’t sure, but now it’s quite obvious each time we meet that you and your caffeine are the outlier impacting me.
You brought all my anxieties to the surface, laying me bare in my own mind.
Leaving me fraught with just a touch of desperation if I so much as dabble in your dark arts.

This is not a pleasant thing Coffee, and though I know you don’t intend to do it to me, and we’ve barely gotten to know each other, but I feel like we would really have something if only you’d stop that one irritating habit.
Clearly the forces of the universe, and my brain, have prevented the blooming of what could have been a lovely, if one-sided, friendship.
Oh well, perhaps my platonic love for you is simply not meant to be.

Signed: not yours despite my wishes, and best intentions,
– The Shade of Purple…

P.S. I’ll talk to my brain and see if we can’t sort this out at a later date. I wasn’t very keen on the fact it took so little to shove me over into this reaction, perhaps the fault is not really yours to bear.

P.P.S. For anyone who’s wondering no I’m of course not being serious in any way, I just thought it might be amusing to write to coffee, rather than simply complain about my anxiety induced by caffeine.

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4 thoughts on “Coffee I love you, but Stahp.

  1. I loved this post because I relate sooo much! I suddenly stopped being able to drink coffee in 1992; overnight, I went from being able to enjoy a cup to feeling as though my body were full of gritty sand. It’s not the caffeine – I can, and still do, drink tea copiously – but coffee’s out of the question. Which makes me something of an outsider, living in Melbourne, one of the coffee capitals of the world – and leaves me with a weirdly confused mind, loving the aroma but fearing the taste!

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