Cinnamon

Last night when M came over, I wanted to get food.

It was raining very lightly. We walked to the Starbucks right next to the Skytower and I ordered another Cinnamon Dolce Latté. The smooth jazz always played from the ceiling, and my spirit was calmed when that warm cup of coffee was announced. M and I went upstairs, through the wooden floors, to the space where modern chandeliers hovered above and grand couches sat welcomingly on the round rugs.

I opened up the cap of the coffee cup and scraped the cream with the stirring stick. I mixed it until the cinnamon was in the body of the latté. We were sitting by the windows which looked out to a rainy scene of night with the headlights of cars reflecting on the slippery streets. The traffic lights had seemed extra lucid as well.
There was a bar across the street. “I want to own that bar one day,” M said. I looked up. “I mean I just want to be the owner, not the manager. That would be too tiring. But I want it to be a place where I can be in front of the counter and behind it. It could be my resting stop. And see those rooms above the bar? One of those could be my own room.”
“That is really cool.” As a matter of fact, I have never thought about that myself. But it was a brilliant idea. As long as he doesn’t turn into a pimping sugar daddy type.

The coffee was great. It was near an orgasm. With M sitting across from me babbling as I liked, I thought about how my life is really quite enjoyable.

Tags: beauty, dating, diary, friends, journal, life, love, lust, men, pain, philosophy, psychology, relationship, romance, sex, stories, study, thoughts, women, writing