Dear Java,

Coffee, there is something I need to tell you. I don't just taste you, letting you wash over my tongue, I consume you letting you heat me from the inside. You know I enhance your natural flavors, or hide them with sugars and creams, because I love you. I know I shouldn't try to change you, but I don't just taste you, I feel you. Your naturally acrid taste and sinister looks lure me back every time. What girl doesn't like a bad boy? I have tried others, but decaf is plain and boring. I like the emotional roller coaster. Doesn't everybody? You know you strip my stomach of its lining and the lows you give me make me quiver and shake.

Everyone loves you. I mean, my own best friend bought me a new mug to put you in. My own best friend! How could you? I even carried a new “maker” into the office yesterday like a newborn because the old one was bastardizing your efforts. When I am unmotivated, you are my muse. You turn a listless life into one of panic and efficiency. You have single handedly saved the world and are responsible for its progress. How can a girl resist such power? Locke sang because of your drug. Swift crafted his greatest stabs at the cruelty of the human machine because you sped up and dragged out his formerly muted anguish. How can you turn cold so quickly? Why do you sour after an hour? Why do I keep coming back for more? I don't know how to quit you.