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Too much.
I pull the lid off the small cup in my hand.
Cuban coffee.
Strong.
Dark.
Sweet enough to almost hurt.
I take a sip.
It hits my tongue sharp and hot, bitter sugar and espresso cutting straight through me.
Good.
I need that.
Something strong enough to match what’s sitting in my chest.
I lean back, close my eyes, and breathe.
In.
Flowers.
Warm earth.
Fresh cut grass.
Out.
Traffic.
Heat.
Noise.
In.
Lavender.
Something citrus.
Sun on skin.
Out.
Everything else.
I try to empty my head.
Try to quiet it.
Try to be here.
Just here.
