Friday Flash: Coffee and Cigarettes
He said. She said. He was coffee. She was cigarettes. He drank his coffee with sugar, and her with salt. But they both always had their coffees with muffin. Without fail. It’s a pity they only ever had muffin in dreams. Outside dreams they were always missing. He said black. She said white. He said yes. She said no. He said hello. She said goodbye. Even if they ever said the same things, they were always at different times. Like that one time when she said she loved him, and he had said I did, but not anymore. It was like they were two drunk people trying to toast, but their glasses never quite clinked.
So they have resorted to dreaming of one another. And in their dream they would sit at the wooden table by the brick wall drinking coffee eating muffins, listening to the waves and talking. Talking till the morning came. And they would talk some more. And even more.
And in their dreams they often became one another. She drank her coffee with sugar, and him with salt. She was coffee, and he was cigarettes. And they would close their eyes at the same time and hold hands until they both became one, and the same.
Both coffee and cigarettes. They were whole.
And while they were asleep they would kiss, and it would be sweet.
But outside their dreams they would just brush past one another, unaware. Unaware that they were each other in dreams.
Unaware that they were each others’ dream.