"Sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam."

"Hmmm?" I asked, still at awe at how the coffee that I just made compliments her so much.

Not too sweet, not bland, and most importantly, not too biter. She just resembles a great shot of espresso, constantly hanging in the balance of life-- and of us. I love how my coffee and her always taste like the best version of itself.

"Why I really write. I don't know where and when it all started. All I know is I was just drawed in combining different words in a line and people then started calling me poet. I don't really know. So, how about you? When did you start liking the idea of brewing coffee?" Her lips formed as creamy as a flat white and as beutiful line as a haiku smile. 

"I just liked the idea of it that keeps my everything awake.." I smiled at her and looked at the side, because...

Because I couldn't contain how my heart starts racing as if I gulped fifteen galloons of coffee in a sitting. 

Because I hate that it looks like I found another way to make my world written with shambled words and kept me wide awake.