Something over my spilled coffee.

It was one of those enervating days where I was completely exhausted by the evening. While I was too preoccupied the whole day in my submissions, assignments, practical work and boring lectures, I didn’t fail to miss him even for my single heartbeat. There was no meaning in mentioning that I miss him this much. But bleh, that was pretty much my routine that day. I came back home being sleepy tired and in the mood of skipping the part of changing my clothes and having my evening bath. Although after convincing myself enough I finished the “evening ablution” part of my routine and finally strolled towards my bed and thumped lazily. A while after, the realization of completing my assignment which I was supposed to submit the very next day hit me hard. I got up with an heavy heart ditching my sleep and thought of making myself a cup of coffee while calculating the amount of time it’d take to complete that assignment and the span I’d get my sleep for. Yes we engineers are an expert in doing that more than fixing things! I then started my assignment while taking little sips of my self made coffee.
I have this habit of fidgeting with my fingers or feet or twirling my pen unnecessarily even while I am doing an important piece of work which they say is a sign of hyperactivity. Okay! I’ll take that as a compliment.

So the similar thing followed even that day. While fidgeting I subconsciously spilled my coffee.
Not giving too much attention to it, I continued with my assignment. I finished it and while I was wrapping up with my materials my eyes halted on the spilled coffee. It reminded me of him again. Yes I said again because I never fail to acknowledge a single moment which ever reminds me of him.
So yeah he is a coffee lover and too addicted to caffeine.

I stared at the coffee for a while and realized :
He was like the coffee too.
Dark as hell, because no one could ever know how majestic his soul was. And I guess no one was ever allowed to; because no one was ever so blessed.
Pure as magic as he expressed himself coyly. Because there was never a word made to describe the beauty of his words.
Black as a devil, because he was a persona buried into a shell which took immense love to pierce through and bring out his true exquisiteness; (like the roasting of coffee which brought out it’s flavors and aroma.)
Like coffee he dealt with people; hard, soft, cold, black, instant but his warmth never faded for anyone.
People in his life were like sugar. Some could get along really well to make the perfect cup of his life while some couldn’t, yet he never complained.
People even judged him on the cups he resided in, which were his circumstances. Yet he remained the same, Dark, Beautiful and Magical.
Now I am no more stupefied; he was surely an ADDICTION.

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