“Have you ever had your heart broken in a cafe?” I ask this and you turn to me and ask “where did that come from? Is that why you want us to go to Java this Friday?”

I throw the pillow at you and in sleek mode, you duck and stick your tongue out at me. You laugh and for a second turn and I see it coming, “seriously though…are you thinking of ending us? Look, I know, wait…I know we have something, a kind of connection and you love me but are too scared to admit it, so…whatever we are, we are not leaving it at a cafe of all the places! Not a place that reeks of coffee and house music, that’s blasphemy!”

There are two things I know to be true; I love coffee and I love the uncertainty that’s me. So, when you look at me, waiting for a response, I can only speak of what I know to be true. “Relax, would you…but what would you do if someone broke up with you at a cafe?”

“I would pour the coffee on them.”

“No, you wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me. Look, why are we talking about cafes and breaking up?”

“I just had an idea and you know me and these little gems of life that dwell in my mind. Now, can I get a refill!”

You take my cup and for a second stare at me, as though your mind wants to take note of every crease, bump, rash, curve, line on my face…and slowly you raise your right hand, and as it happens with every touch, I close my eyes and lean into your open palm.

“You need cafe therapy love…for one of us will go up in flames while the other stares at the embers left of that fire…”