I love coffee.  The smell of it accompanies wonderful early mornings and tired, content smiles.  The strong, bitter flavor is beautiful in its harshness.  The creamy white milk swirling in the black liquid resembles purification and forgiveness.
Coffee is a little bit like life.  If you don’t enjoy it the way it genuinely is, you can simply add things to make it seem better.  But truthfully, no matter what you do to it, it will always remain dark and sour.
We met because of coffee.  You were sitting next to me on the subway with your Starbucks, and I tapped you on the shoulder and proceeded to inform you about what I thought of coffee.   You laughed and asked for my number.
Oh, stranger, you never did call me.  But you did become something much more than the girl who had Starbucks, anyway.  You became an idealized concept.
In my imagination, we were best friends.  We got together on a regular basis, and we told each other everything.  I don’t have a real best friend, or any friends.  Maybe my desire for that which I have always lacked is why I’m thinking of you now.
If you knew, would you care?  Would my death matter to you?  I don’t think it would.  Maybe you’d be mildly upset at the idea of anyone dying, but I doubt it.  You seemed like one of those rational people that claim it’s only a part of life.
I don’t understand why it has to be.  Is there even a point to living if that’s the case?  We live for so long just to die, and that doesn’t make sense to me.  It’s not as if life is even somewhat fun.
Which is why, stranger, I have to cut mine short.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m scared.  I want for someone to come and save me and tell me that it’s going to be alright.  I want to believe that it’s going to be alright.
But I can’t.  Nothing will ever be alright.  Reality is even more screwed up than I am.
I reach for the pile of blue pills.  My head is pounding and my heart is racing and I have to bite my lip and consider if this is the only option.  The part of me hellbent on dying insists that it is and I am forced to relent, to take all of those pills.  The world begins to spin and grow hazy.
This is a goodbye to the hello we never really had, stranger.