Dear morning cup of coffee,
I look forward to you. I look forward to you when I drift off to sleep at night, dreaming of coffee beans and sweet creamer, and when I awaken in the morning, knowing you’re waiting upon my presence.
Walking downstairs half-awake to my kitchen, pre-coffee, is both the best and worst part of my day. Grabbing the cold brew jug, the almond milk, and the creamer from my fridge sends a wave of joy down my spine. Pouring each component into my glass over a thick layer of ice one by one satisfies me. I insert my metal straw into my cup and circularly swirl the deliciousness to create my morning joy.
My morning cup of coffee, you hold the power of more than you know. You encourage me; you encourage me to be productive. You give me the boost to make my bed in the morning—to be confident in the fact that every pillow is sitting perfectly upright and that my sheets are tightly tucked into my mattress. You obligate me to make sure that my bedroom is spic and span with no clothes littering my carpet and all of my dresser drawers glued shut.
With you by my side, I have the power to knock out a 100 question AP Environmental Science reading guide in one sitting. With you by my side, I’m obligated to take my Algebra 2 notes utilizing every multi-colored Flair pen I own.
You instantly improve my mood and extinguish my fatigued self. It is scientifically proven that coffee improves alertness and assertiveness, and it also increases pleasantness; it’s no wonder so many people around the world adore their morning coffee as much as I do.
You bring me so much peace yet sharpness. Every morning, I am compelled to match your radiance. Accordingly, I tend to grab my lighter and softly light my “Leaves” scented candle sitting in the corner of my desk. I then activate my gold fairy lights above my bed and slide on my blue light glasses. I open my laptop and get to work for the day as the scent of autumn and crisp air dances throughout my room.
Now, as I sit here writing my TCT story, I have reached the end. I’m sipping on crushed ice as I try to convince myself there’s more of you. I trigger the gurgling sound from my straw as I’m sadly tasting the watered-down remnants of you. But my dear cup of coffee, don’t you worry, because I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.