True Love of Coffee

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Some people have a moment in life when they realize what matters most to them. I have this feeling every day of my life. It is a matter of personal dedication, of pushing yourself to a point that very few can even imagine.

This is where the blessing of personal faith and the horrors of reality intersect, the moment of crisis when a dream becomes a nightmare and you lose the ability to see the details of your own life. This is not a second in existence; this is the eternity of feeling everything, each and every day, with every breath you take.

I do not claim to hold this truth, merely to be burdened by it. To have it be my companion in a journey of incredible depth.

My choice is to live such a wonderful conundrum, to focus on the point of my destination so feverishly that I find comfort in a trail of broken cobblestone beneath my feet. I do not pay attention to the nature of each step, merely experiencing the motion of my body as it moves just a little bit closer to my goal.

So I say, with one breath, like the wind that carries a ship through the rough sea; I love this life. The destination I am sailing towards is just over the horizon, a perfect blue sea, the lush green grass of welcoming embrace. I do not falter against the storm, I do not fail to keep afloat in the torrent of change that pulls my voyage into unchartered waters.

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The panic in my heart, the burst of adrenaline and apprehension as someone I love dies in my hands. I do not let go as my grip becomes weak, as my heart tightens like ice around my soul. I feel nothing, except for knowing part of my dream is over. I look down and question, if I could only try harder, would my courage have been enough to keep death from embracing someone I love?

I do not know.

I chastise myself for questioning how long my hope can survive. This faith is not a passion, for the emotion of my desires is not something that last… or is it? Are the feelings within my soul immortal, as if destined to define themselves by the chapters of my life, holding themselves from a closing verse, keeping itself in a solid definition of exacting nature?

I do not dare to believe in life, or death. Trapped in the chasm of two opposing forces and becoming something entirely different, my only hope is that the purpose of this space is limited. I can only hope that it has been designed with an ending, to resolve itself, or else I find myself entrapped by a facet of life that reflects upon itself a thousand times over.