raccoongibran

[raccoongibran]

Brews of Solitude

He had always despised coffee — the bitterness, and the unpleasant aftertaste it left on his tongue. Despite trying it several times, no amount of milk or sugar had made it any better. He never understood why people would choose to start their day with something so bitter.

On the other hand, she loved it. For her, coffee was her joy. She had found warmth in every cup that nothing else could give her, sweetness in every sip, and a comfort she never had. To her, coffee was the gentle nudge she sought to get her day started.

He had always lived a life of solitude and peace, avoiding any drama or interaction, reserved to himself and himself only. He was never a person to go out of his way to make friends or interact with people, always sticking with the people he had already found. He found forming bonds with new people annoyingly difficult to manage and quite confusing as well. The need to always say the right thing to someone made him nervous. Life was like a series of interviews and tests, where you had to say the right thing or be judged for it, and he hated that thought. He always sought retreat within himself, where he found conversing with his own thoughts much simpler.

She, though, found life in others. To her, people were stories waiting to be told. Regardless of where she was, she would find a way to make her presence known and made conversing with strangers look so easy. Every room she walked into would light up as she smiled, always trying to bring out laughter and happiness in others as she wished someone would do for her. She always had a knack for helping others, easing their worries, and leaving behind pieces of herself in every person she met. She always went out of her way to help people in ways she had never been helped. She enjoyed talking and listening to the untold stories people had to share.

They didn’t share many similarities with each other, except for the love they shared.

She knew he hated coffee, and he knew the attention she brought with her. Despite the differences, they still found love in each other, choosing to love each other anyway.

Despite his hatred toward coffee, he loved her because she was the only coffee he enjoyed. He found warmth in everything she ever shared, sweetness in every glance she gave, and a sense of comfort he had only longed for. To him, she was his coffee — the gentle nudge he needed to get out of bed. She was someone worth sharing coffee with, bringing light into his life and an energy he was not familiar with. She made him feel seen and heard. For the first time, he wanted a fresh brew with someone new, and this time it wouldn’t just be an unpleasant beverage to him but a way to get to know her and truly understand her.

Despite her extroverted self and the constant conversations she held with people around her, he was her solitude and peace that she so desperately needed. Her days were filled with the worries of others and her own, always helping, always giving. Yet, with him, the noise faded to silence. He was a feeling of home, finally allowing her to breathe, and he brought a gentle breeze of calmness to her ever-busy life. For once, she found comfort in the stillness as long as it was shared with him, realizing the beauty in the calmness and stillness. He chose to be her place of rest, knowing how tiring and harsh the life she lived was.

Together, they were paradoxical — bringing a balance into each other’s lives. She brought colors into his life, while he showed her the comfort of silence in black and white. To him, she was someone worth going out of his way for, to get out of his comfort zone and try to reach for her. To her, he was someone with whom she could truly be herself and not be judged for it.

It was a love that flourished in the differences between them. A cup of coffee and a life of solitude — who would have thought they’d go together? They loved each other, after all.

Despite the bond they shared and the love they held for each other, it was short-lived. Just as every story has an ending, they met theirs sooner than they both wished. The coffee he loved slowly turned into the bitter truth he always hated, and no amount of milk or sugar could make it any better. She realized the solitude and peace she longed for would never come, for she was bound by her family’s expectations. He knew how much she deserved a life of joy, but he knew he couldn’t be that person for her anymore. Each was bound to responsibilities they couldn’t escape. Despite their aching hearts, they knew the home they once found in each other could no longer stand. A separation not born out of a loss of love, but out of necessity. They knew it was for the best, even if it meant letting go.

No longer could she be his vibrant coffee that filled his mornings, and he couldn’t be the silence she craved to rest in.

In the end, they had to be grateful for what they shared, despite it being brief. It would forever be a heavy memory they were forced to carry, hoping the love they held would one day fade into being a thing of the past. She would always be a beautiful experience to him, hoping that in another life, they would have stayed longer.

[raccoongibran]

Lost Wandering

So unfamiliar to these gardens I once watered. I find myself lost in these voices and thoughts, always wishing to be found. Clueless to the words I once recited with ease. Fearing the rain, hating the cold it brings with it, never understanding that it is not the rain that burdens me, but the shelter I cling to. not knowing that no umbrella or coat could prevent the illness that has long spread within me. A quiet fever of the soul. The desire to be seen and admired as the art I paint with the colors of my own self. The unsettling weight of my own steps, even as I’m paralyzed by the guilt of not moving. I feel like a shipwreck waiting to happen, adrift in these tides of emotion. I look up, searching for stars to guide me in the morning sky.

Each step on this concrete path, hardened by the weight of others’ needs, watering the ground with quiet hope, as I long for the scent of blooming flowers. Planting seeds of hope amidst the fog, wishing their branches might reach the clouds, though no tree can find its way if its roots are lost in the dark. I stare at a watch that no longer ticks, no longer bound by numbered days. The face in the mirror — once familiar, now feels like a stranger. Who am I these days?

Perhaps I am a museum of who I once was, caught between what I have been and what I might be. The silence of my thoughts feels heavier than the voices I long to silence, and still, I wander, waiting for the winds to bring clarity, trying to recall the colors that once felt so vivid. I stand like an abandoned book on a forgotten shelf, pages worn and edges frayed, wondering if the story was ever mine or simply borrowed. I search for the flame that once burned bright, though it flickers weakly in the winds of doubt.

But as I walk, I find a quiet wisdom in this unfamiliarity. Surrendering to the beauty of the unknown, open to the many selves of me that are yet unwritten. Perhaps being lost is not a flaw but an invitation to wander with new eyes. There is serenity in this in-between, where each step becomes an act of trust, a leap into the unknown. Learning to grow beyond the limits I once drew around myself. The unfamiliar becomes a canvas of endless possibility. Perhaps it is not in being found that we truly know ourselves, but in the act of wandering.

The unknown paths I choose have become the very ones that shape me, for it is in the darkness that the stars shine brightest. In the silence of my steps, I hear the whispers of possibility. The tree whose roots seem to wander in the dark is not lost; it is simply growing, reaching ever deeper into the earth, holding onto the loosened hope before it ever touches the sky. No longer am I the reflection of the expectations of the world. Even in the fog, beauty waits within the unseen. In being lost, I find new ways to grow.

With every passing moment, I hold the power to shape the present. Though clouds obscure my view, the light within me still exists, waiting to shine.

Perhaps in losing ourselves, do we truly come closer to who we are.