Better By Nightfall

I have a blasphemous confession to make: coffee is how I know God exists. Flavorful, special coffees. Specifically Starbucks' coffees, but some others do suffice. Rich, smooth, or bold. Whipped cream, iced or hot, fully caffeinated.

The price is right for a taste of heaven.

When I order my venti toffee nut latte with a shot of extacy and cocaine, I can hear the choir of angels sing. They raise in tune with each passing moment, waiting to explode in a grand crescendo as the beverage reaches my hands and touches my lips. The aroma and taste swim together, tantalizing my senses. I sip calmly at first, savoring each moment in my paradise. My body feels alive in this moment, more so than any other time. My mind moves, awakened. I feel I can continue on with any task at hand. Until I realize, with a bitter shock, that with each degustation my piece of heaven is vanishing.

And eventually it is gone.

In its aftermath it leaves me feeling what I felt while drinking it, but only for so long. With it, I am able to move on in time, to survive another daunting class or task. And I know I'll get through the day when all is said and done.

It will call to me again from time to time. Beckoning me to return to bliss, but I'll resist. I'll hold out until a time of most desperate need. An overnighter. A last-mintue paper. A quick-pick me up in the morning. My lunch one hectic afternoon. I'll struggle, but I'll survive. For when I drink it again, I'll feel and know what it is to be alive.