|Title:||Coffee & Cigarettes|
|Posted On:||2005-12-28 00:00:00|
Something as unappealing as a cigarette butt
takes on a beautiful dimension when lovers grapple with the twilight of their being.
This realization confirmed by the conclusion of
death to a soul dance, at least in one of its broadly salient features. In the absence of true contempt, vividly positive, pleasant and fulfilling memories pick up where lovers left off.
This experiential element is the focus of this distinction—a statement that even repugnant things can evoke powerfully positive feeling.
Like in the morning, when I wake up, I break my day with a fresh cup of Joe. The variety of coffee I drink is a blend of torrified, bitter beans ground into a fine espresso.
The slowly increasing crescendo of sound that boils out of the machine dances wonderfully with the sultry aroma. No morning is complete without this sensational expression.
The memory of her being there—behind me—responding to a good mornin’ call only tinged with the smells of finely roasted coffee. I steam the milk to a creamy froth, mix in the Joe and our eyes lock.
With the smile that only comes after the exhaustion of a hot, humid summer night—a smile masked by the brim of a hot cup—we both sigh with pleasure following the initial daily sip.
Such are the simple things that invoke a passion within a serious soul.
The end of a long affair has something clumsy to it. Unlike matrimonial ties severing on account of betrayal, affairs can be allowed to grow, to evolve.
Circumstances change and so do people, but the distinguishing factor here is how the actors play out their parts. Like dancers in the wind, they fly together as powerful gusts blow them about. They are synchronized, sympathetic and enjoy what some call “chemistry."
When the bonds of such complementary molecules are necessarily broken, they float aimlessly apart and into space. The universe may be cold and dark, but the memories still live on in objects and habits.
There is no requirement that such things need be beautiful, sexy or even pleasant—they need only be tied to a fleeting memory, an experience that can only be defined by the affair. The cigarette butt in my kitchen ashtray is not my brand.