Fiction

She wishes she could go somewhere where no one could find her. But then she still comes out to live, talk when she has too, smile when she has too. She feels like an empty shell just floating around, like a skinned animal with deep wounds. She's willing to throw away everything. It's quite scary. Why do he wants to come in hell, she shouldn't care about it. That's what the devil inside is asking to do. Even she thought it was absurd, like those painful words she said, would it have been more painful?. She's in a bad for some reason, since while ago, she gets so angry.

لطفي

Read more »

A Cinnamon Latte

I can see myself easily becoming addicted to coffee, I'll likely need lots of booster to stay awake all the time I'll need to. I love writing and reading late into night, because no one is awake to bug me, all time is mine, and a cinnamon latte; the sweet, steamed milk foam and creamy flavor will always be my best friend. When I talk about coffee,  I'm sure there are tons of variations out there such as espresso, latte, americano, cappuccino, mocca, macchiato, etc. 

For me, the taste of coffee and cream is often the expression of a need for emotional comfort. Perhaps that is why I choose coffee as my example, coffee, the metaphor is similar to beverage that it provides both sensory pleasure during consumption. I learned from trying to push the metaphor further than I thought it could go. For instance, I'm physically addicted to coffee, I've made the choice to have it daily knowing that if I ever can't get it, or have some compelling reason to stop drinking it, I am in for a week of miserable headaches and joint pain. I can mitigate that a bit by gradually tapering off my consumption, but I can't avoid it all together. 

My body would mourn the loss, just as my mind would mourn the loss of a person I loved, the brownish cinnamon latte.

لطفي

Read more »