Day 6: Jet Pack Blues by Fall Out Boy

I remember my first memory of him – I was in a jeepney, and he… He was with his friends, outside. Our eyes –  two pairs of eyes of mere acquaintances – met for a millimeter of a second, avoided at the very last minute. Who would have thought that in a span of a few months, he would go from someone who ignored me that one time I wasn’t even expected to be acknowledged, to someone who listened to my slurred grief endeavors that one time the moon was the only bright light I knew. He was coffee – my one sole companion as the night dragged on, the one person who reminded me that the reason why the sky is so void of stars is because they have all decided to reside within me. Being engulfed in his world of busy city lights and caffeine-induced bloodstreams thrilled me. He was a blend of bitter and sweet, served hot and warm to calm my nerves, or chilled and ice-cold to excite it. He was coffee – and I had to remind myself that I need not have him for every hour of the day, every day of the month. A few absences made a simple shut-eye feel refreshing as the world whirled on and on. And I knew… I knew that the more days pass that I do not see him, the better the feeling he gives the moment the next time I finally do. He was coffee – and I am thankful for his unconditional companionship, whenever I had need of it.

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