Cold Brew


The coffee's getting cold and I'm getting a little too old for melancholic musings, but here I am, breaking the chain of not blogging because my time is consumed mostly by vaguely essential cut through's.

I remember how vibrant my dreams were some years ago. . .

Even before the dawn of artsy photos of journals, books and coffee, I already saw myself right there at the corner of the cafe by the window pane, mindlessly writing about well kept memories on my journal, right across an earthy mug of iced vanilla caramel macchiato, beside a pile of notebooks and disarrayed pens and nibs. Yes, I even saw myself blogging and writing for a living.

Even before the dawn of 'wanderlust' I already saw myself traveling to different places across the globe only to immerse myself in God's wonderful creation, embrace different cultures, and leave fragments of my soul in every stop, in exchange for pieces that will re-create the woman that I am. Yes, I even saw myself as a happy travelr

Even before the dawn of artisan cafes here and there I already saw myself searching for the quaintest coffee shops here and around the world to spoil myself with its interiors and indulge in hand-crafted beverages I'd be adding to my coffee journal. Yes, I even saw myself hailed as the most trusted coffee connoisseur.

I dreamed a dream.
Until now, they remain as is.
and it breaks my heart.

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