There are quiet mornings.
There are chaotic mornings.
And then there are those sacred mornings that simply won’t begin until coffee enters the room like a true star.
It all starts with the sound.
A soft bubbling. A gentle hiss.
As if the universe itself is brewing a secret elixir.
Then comes the aroma.
Oh, that aroma!
Rich, deep, full of character.
It sneaks into your thoughts, gently taps your forehead, and whispers:
“Come on now… it’s time to wake up.”
You close your eyes.
The cup rests between your palms — warm and familiar.
You don’t just hold it; you feel it with your whole being.
There’s no need for words — just breathing in.
You and your coffee — old friends sharing a moment of silent understanding.
The first sip.
Slow. Almost ceremonial.
Suddenly, you remember why you love life.
Your brain kicks in. The world regains its color. You might even conquer it all (well, maybe after a second sip).
The second sip.
Now you’re smiling.
At yourself. At the sky. At nothing in particular.
Coffee doesn’t just give you energy — it restores your faith in everything good.
You’re sitting outside.
A beam of light touches the rim of your cup.
Time pauses.
The coffee and the morning raise a quiet toast.
And you’re there, right in the middle, the most important guest of this moment.
City sounds, a breeze, a bird or two… it all mixes into some weird, delightful jazz.
And you just sit there, cup in hand, knowing the day will be okay.
Not because everything is perfect — but because you’re present, and the moment tastes like coffee.
And when the cup finally runs empty, something lingers in you — a tiny spark that whispers:
“It’s going to be a good day. Because it began with coffee.” 