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Over Coffee

  Over Coffee

  In a perfect world, coffee would already come with cream and sugar.

  Not yours though — you like it black,

  with little sweetener pellets; two or three;

  It’s what they do in Germany.

  In a perfect world, we’d wake up at the same time,

  and sleep better together.

  In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to leave

  so early, or at all. I wouldn’t have to worry

  if our semesters align in Spring, or Fall.

  In a perfect world, you wouldn’t steal — sorry — borrow the blanket

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  in the middle of the night.

  In a perfect world, in the middle of the night, when you stole the blanket—

  or otherwise—

  I wouldn’t wake up

  frightened, cold, alone.

  In a perfect world, I wouldn’t yell at other drivers, and you wouldn’t have to practice stoicism,

  or posturing, or carry mace

  while walking down the street.

  In a perfect world, both of our moms would still be alive.

  In a perfect world

  your parents would value your personhood, listen to you,

  and get their own damn therapist.

  In a perfect world I wouldn’t have been

  neglected, abused, cast out.

  In a perfect world, over coffee,

  mine with cream and sugar, yours

  with three little pellets and a stir,

  we wouldn’t be holding each other,

  tears racing like

  scared children, falling

  in an infinite moment,

  over coffee.

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