Remember.

Her name is Mina.

You like her 

 

 

 

How long has it been already?
Four?
Five?
I think five.
Yes, five.

 

 

It has been five years since I left.
It has been five years since the last day I saw her.

 

 

Five years.
And I still like her.

 

 

I remember...

 

 

 

She liked her coffee strong.
She liked the spot near the window.

 

I knew her by name.

 

Mina.

 

That’s what I write on her cup of coffee.

 

Her name is Mina.

 

 

Why did I even like her? I don’t even know her.
For all I know she could be a murderer or a drug dealer.

But as clueless as I can be to whom she really is,
I find myself getting drawn into her.

 

 

 

More and more.

 

 

 

I am not good with words.

 

I am not good with writing them down either,

 

 

 

but I can.

So I did.

 

 

 

 

Her name is Mina,
and I like writing at the bottom of her cup of coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every time she would come at the coffee shop I would, not so secretly, write something at the bottom of her cup of Americano.

 

 

 

I'm not good with words, so I'm writing them down.

 

 

 

I was scared but I liked her a lot that it made me want to step out of my comfort zone, somehow.

 

 

 

I would write the things that I wanted to say to her.

 

 

 

You look cute today .

 

 

 

Sometimes random things.

 

 

 

Penguins walk funny.

 

 

 

Sometimes I draw instead.
Doodles.
On good days I had them colored.

 

 

 

 

When you’re in public the last thing you would look at would be the bottom of your coffee.

 

So, I didn’t think she would notice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She didn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some part of me hoped she would but… I think I stoped hoping.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Years.

 

 

 

 

 

It went on for years.
Two?
Three?
Ah yes. Three years.

 

 

 

 

She had friends.
Sometimes she would come with them.
More often, she would come alone and sit in her spot and I would still write down her coffee.

 

 

 

 

Your hair is getting longer.

 

 

 

The pony tail looks cute.

 

 

 

Mina.

 

 

 

What if.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 words.

 

When I write something down
It doesn’t exceed 5 words.
Sometimes.

 

 

 

One day I made it longer.
Because it may have been the last time I could do it.

 

 

 

 

 

I have to leave. I don't know if I will be able to come back but I hope to see you again.

Somewhere.

Anywhere.

And if ever, the next words will be in the shape of my voice.

 

Until then, Mina.
 

 

 

 

 

I was right.
I wasn’t able to come back.