How Do You Know When It’s Over?

Coffee Shop, December 15th 2014.

Friday

It’s my fondness day of the week, Friday.

I’ve gone through many things this week. I barely feel my legs. Start from my latest heartbreak, tons of task, homesick, until gifts for Christmas.

Like any other year, I’m always hype up for Christmas. I mean, who doesn’t? Aside from the fact when I realized that Santa Claus is merely a myth.

I unconsciously take my step to a Coffee Shop this afternoon. The atmosphere never fails to amaze me; maybe that’s the reason why my feet brought me here. Walking towards the table near the window, my lips mold up a faint smile.

“Dad” the only word that fills my raging mind.

I curl up another smile — again before letting out a soft sigh.

The waitress suddenly comes, flashing a beauteous smile. Is it alright to like something on someone just because it reminds you of another thing? As cruel as it sounds, I fancy her smile.

Her beauteous smile… reminds me of latest lover.

“What do you want today, young man?”

“One Kona, please.”

“Tough day?” she replies, turning around quickly without giving me any chance to answer.

My dad always chooses the table near the window. He thinks it’s exciting to see what’s happening outside whilst sipping a warm coffee. The cure to a tough day, he said.

Not long after that, the waitress comes again — with a Kona on her palms. She doesn’t say a thing now, leaving it scrupulously on the table.

One thing about her, she never leaves without flashing that beauteous smile.

And I can’t help but to return the smile.

I sip my Kona lightly, gulping it carefully.

A thought passes by all of sudden, leaving me paralyzed.

“Her.”

A month ago, I was here — with her, sipping our hot chocolates.

And for the very first time, I enjoyed her laughter more than my favorite hot chocolate. Mesmerizing.

She told me how stressful her days lately, mumbling non-stop. I know it sounds ridiculous but I love the way she exaggerates things, pursing her strawberry lips up.

A moment after that, she told me about fat-witted things. Her laugh sounds a lot better than an entire album that consists of my favorite songs.

If I have to describe her, then I’d say she’s red.

Red.

The color of her dress as well as her lipstick.

The atmosphere that she brings, dancing around elegantly with our maddening pulse.

She is like a burning flame on my darkest hours.

I still can recall the nervous me every time we made eye-contact, her beauteous smile, mesmerizing laughter, warm palms, cold yet soothing orbs, and lastly, the taste of her strawberry lips which I like the most.

But then, my heart speaks up loudly when my mind’s doing a flashback.

“So how do you know when it’s over?”

I smile briefly, before giving an answer.

“When you love the memories more than the person itself.”
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