Sometimes I brew a cup of coffee at midnight so that I can meet myself. Amidst the frothy steam my soul begins to foam, buoyantly swimming to the rim. I press my lips against the edge, inhaling a densely whimsical breath of quickly fleeting memories. They are laced with hints of nostalgic joy, but the overwhelming flavor is a sorrowful neglect.
As my eyes and heart perk up with each slow sip, I taste the essence of my being - those particles that hide away during the daylight, only willing to show themselves once the world has gone to sleep. They know this is the optimal time to prey; they find me in a state of solemn isolation when I am most susceptible to the horrors of being human.
I take my final gulp of coffee as the hour draws near to one. The particles of my soul prance lithely into my mouth with the sip. I swallow them whole and force my stomach to wrestle with the regrets that my conscious mind is not tough enough to face.
I glance down at the empty mug before me, its poignant hollowness shooting blanks back at me. How cruel and unusually sad it is to find nothingness after facing your fears and absorbing each fiber of your spirit.