at the alcove

somehow the rain, mixed with the taste, brings me back to a feeling i've savored before the rain (rare this time of year at this quantity) mixed with the coffee (not a blend i've had before, with a spice from somebody's farm) dealt a blow of nostalgic-- deep breath in, a blow of nostalgic love i was back in highschool, or shortly thereafter, reveling in romance and being alive. i sat at a coffee shop, hearing coffee shop clatter, and invented some new ways to happily sigh. it felt like nostalgia even then, when it was new like plywood tinted to mahogany brown it was nice and warm in the way that makes you tilt every smile down now i know what love tastes like "now i know how to thank my own life" ive laughed and laughed and cringed at that line but yessir, he was right. (i don't know the language it was translated from, only the grammar suggests it says something different originally but i'll take it the way it turned out) so now I'm in the alcove in my memories' house thanking my life because now i know how okay "in love" okay "romance" i guess I'll treat this time as if it's my last chance