Personal Narrative

Hesitantly, I dip my finger into my steaming cup and stir its swirling contents inside with mild disgust, its strong earthy aroma wafting up my running nose. Now with the cup cradled in between my two thawing hands, I cautiously take a sip. With my head tilted back and my lips, chapped from the frigid winter air, embracing the curled chewed lip of the cup, a trickle of scalding bitter liquid cascades down my throat. Snow-encrusted lashes brush the top of my frost nipped cheeks as I press my eyes firmly shut to visualize the dark oozing coffee empty from the cup and into the depths of my body that is at its mercy, so desperate for its soothing warmth.

A crescendo of voices, a symphony of small talk; rising up, the accelerando of chatter fights

Rosy cheeks flushed from the cold, glistening with wisps of translucent stars. Red pressed lips slightly parted, opening wide into uncharted territory, curling like a worn map into a smile; however, both frayed and uncertain around the edges. A lighthouse in the night, though he like the rest are among a sea of familiar faces whose names have been swept away and receded just out of my grasp and into a cavern of repression, I feel drawn towards his radiating warmth. Slowly with my buoyant heart flailing against my chest, I take the first uncertain step towards him. My pulse gallops out of the reigns of my control; the effects of the caffeine finally starting to kick

I let my eyes dance with mischief and in turn, his mystified chocolate eyes open wide revealing a door that has not yet been explored. Crinkling at the corners, his eyes confirm what I have said is true. We are nothing more than strangers who merely attend the same school together.

“Hey,” he replies questionably with an undercurrent of skepticism; however, his voice is rich with easy humor and warmth.

“Oh,” I pause, serious, and rush on with the rest. “I can’t talk to you. I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

A flash of confusion mars his face and his smile falters only to be transformed into laughter. Before he can say anything else, I turn on my heel and slip away and back into the crowd, rushing towards the doors to make sure I make it to my next class on time.

Dark and swirling, now standing here in front of me, his rustled hair the same color of coffee beans reminding me of the place where we first met. Flushed from laughter, his cheeks radiate a rosy glow that bathes my body in its warmth. Red pressed lips slightly parted, opening wide into a place I’ve now explored, curling into a crooked smile as he spots me. Quickly, he closes the distance between us.

“Hi,” he