By Natasha Effendy
the first sip.
this cup of hot chocolate
fills my belly and mouth
with an inevitable warmth,
making me feel so at home.
the second sip.
suddenly burns me
with nostalgia,
reminding me of
the first time i saw you in that cafe,
drinking hot chocolate.
the third sip.
the cocoa powder tastes bitter
across the expanse of my taste buds;
i grimace.
remembering you
makes me reach for the sugar,
but sugarcoating the memories
doesn’t do this drink justice.
the fourth sip.
i dip the cookie
into the creamy surface
but its other half
instantly breaks off.
a symbol of how we parted ways,
snapping my heart in half
with your filthy hands.
the fifth sip.
the hot chocolate
holds a bittersweet resemblance
to your milky brown eyes,
and recalling how they looked
pains me even more.
the last sip.
the final few drops
swims away from the china
and slips down my throat,
leaving my belly burning
with an unspeakable nausea
because my mouth is sour
from our expiry date
and i just can’t seem to stomach
that one memory
of you leaving me.