Morning coffee

“Hi

there. I hope you don’t mind me

writing, but a funny thing just

happened. I saw

you, at the

school, walking through the

corridor. I think you were going to a

class. There you

were, in the

corridor, jeans and white

shoes, white shirt and a white tote

bag. It reminded me of

Rome, of how every girl I saw in Rome looked just like

you. I found it very

funny. She / you entered a

room, while I stayed in the

hall,

looking, and sipping the rest of my morning

coffee. I don’t know if she / you heard me

looking, but I guess

not. Most likely

not. You

know, the other day I went to the

bookstore, and shuffled through the

shelves, saw the

titles, new and old

and,

suddenly, I realized that the store smelled a lot like fresh-made roasted

coffee. Maybe that is the reason why I like it so

much. And it made me think about that picture you posted on the

20th, of the two coffee

cups. I wonder if that was a

message, a sign of

remembrance, or just some random picture of a tv show we used to talk about a

lot, and in which people drink a hell lot of

coffee, and that you felt like posting on the 20th for no apparent

reason. I’m pretty sure it was probably the

latter. I imagine you are

happy. I always think other people are

happy. If they are not

happy, they show

it. Or they just remain

quiet, but not in a typical

way. In any

case, I can never

guess. I think that you are

happy. I have no reason to think

otherwise. And that’s

good. To be

honest, I sometimes think about

you, but not so

much. I dream a

lot, and I have dreamt too much in these past couple of

weeks. Don’t ask me

why. I don’t know

why. It just

happens: I close my eyes and then I open

them, and it’s somewhere between 5:30 and

6, and I can recall the

dream, and the people in the

dream, and the events in the

dream, and I’m lying in

bed, and I’m still

sleepy, and I’m pretty sure that I’m not going to fall back

asleep. And I don’t think about the dreams nor their

meaning. I know where they come

from, and I understand why they

come. And I actually prefer that they remain like

this, like dreams that come at

night, as opposed to dreams that come during the

day. Does it make

sense? Maybe it doesn’t have

to.

Anyhow, I don’t know if I’ll see you in my dreams

tonight. You or an image of someone just like

you, but not

you, walking through the school

corridors, or some European ancient

city, with white white white tote bags and

etc. In the

meantime, the sun is shining

outside, and it is warmer than

usual, like if it was

summer. And I’m still drinking my morning

coffee, and I have to go and have

lunch.”

Russel Brakefield, “Field Recordings”, Wayne State University Press, 2018