One morning we hope the rain to die. The corresponding rain of proportions may be beautiful. But the downpours are really annoying.
At that time we were coffee-coffee at a coffee shop in KB Park, Semarang. There is a cup of coffee along with a number of snacks. We think the beauty of a garden should be celebrated with a cup of coffee. A garden is like a dream, while a cup of coffee will always remind us of the facts.
We had coffee there all night to talk about memories. Memories, we know will feel more inflamed when discussed while sipping a cup of coffee. The coffee is black, jellied, thick, and bitter. Such coffee always succeeds in capturing memories so that, if it should be spoken, it does not become so sad. For the sadness of shortlived seneng duit.
The coffee is black, jellied, thick, and bitter. Of course the coffee is not my secret. Only my frizzy-haired friend likes that kind of coffee. My coffee is a cupu cup, a mocha flavor that fits nicely, because my memories like my coffee that, sweet fitting.
That night was my last night in Semarang. The second time in a year goes home. It's enough for a bachelor overseas like I go home twice a year. It's enough to me with the old city. Hijrah to new place is my dream from the first.
Thanks @goodkarma