The coffee was black as usual, almost no sugar. This time the music did not match with the idea I had in mind about what I thought it should have been played. A blurry image, chattering, dark wavy hair in front of me, lips being licked looking for moisture. “You are a mess,” I thought. We could have focused on our typical conversations, but your mouth was in denial and the words died in your lips. My attempts of changing the topic failed. It was too late to stay up all night. “I will leave soon, you don’t have to worry,” I mumbled. My eyes were burning, although that was not really important to me. I wanted the moment to last.