I looked down.
There was your name.

Knowing there wasn’t much more to say.

Coffee?

The thing I loved most.
Coffee.
And usually, good conversation.

But my mind knew
a conversation with you
would mean so much more than that.

I could feel the attempt
to fix something so broken.
Something I knew was too far gone,
but you still hoped we could mend.

And I accepted.
Although nothing in me wanted to.

How could someone
I’d known most of my life
suddenly feel like a stranger?

Or maybe worse,
he who knew me most
was about to become one.

As I pulled into the coffee shop,
I nervously looked for your truck.

I knew you’d beat me there.
You were never late.

Except, maybe this time.

Not for coffee.
But for the changes
I’d spent years waiting for.

And when I walked in
and saw you sitting there,
I was met with the saddest eyes
I’d ever seen.

And I didn’t know how to fix them.

The truth was,
I’d spent far too long
pretending I could fix things
I never really could.

And I couldn’t keep pretending.
Not anymore.

Because maybe
it was all the truths
we’d spent years not acknowledging
that brought us to this coffee shop
in the first place.

We ordered our coffee
like awkward acquaintances.

Two people who once shared a life,
now barely knowing
how to share a table.

And then we sat down.

I almost did what I always did.

Filled the empty space with words.
Made the uncomfortable comfortable.
Tried to make everything feel okay.

But this wasn’t my invitation.

So I let the silence be loud.

And I could feel you waiting.
Waiting for me to say something.
To find the words.
To fix this,
like I’d fixed so many things before.

But I couldn’t.

And somewhere in that silence,
I think you knew
I wasn’t going to this time.

I can’t remember
everything that was said.
Or what wasn’t.

Just the silence
between sips of coffee.

The sadness in your eyes.
And the strange feeling
of sitting across from someone
who knew almost everything about me,
yet somehow
didn’t know me anymore.

And when we stood to leave,
I think we both knew.

This wasn’t a coffee date.

It was the final nail in the coffin
of what once was
us.

— Heather Dyan Morgan