"I'd love to go out for coffee with you" she responded enthusiastically.
          "Great, I'll meet you there at five."
As I walked in the door the sweet aroma of ground coffee beans and caramel syrup and cinnamon seasonings enveloped my nostrils. I was drawn to the counter where I completed my elaborate drink order which sounded more like poetry then something one would consume. I picked up my chai latte with whipped cream and chocolate syrup drizzled on top, and found my lady friend sitting in front of a window at a tall table, the sunlight playing gently with the soft features of her face and tickling her long silken hair. I sit and a smile spreads across her face like the cream cheese on the bagel that she has ordered. Before her was a poppy seed bagel with veggie cream cheese and a soy latte. I comment on our similar drink orders and my shared love of poppy seed bagels as well. Her smile widens and the conversation flows. Our words become a brook, babbling with tiny bubbles and giggles, lapping lightly on the shores of our table, flowing around our cups and down the legs of the table onto the floor. The coffee shop glistens with the words of our conversation, shining off walls, the air moist with anticipation. After talking a while we are fully at ease. The aroma of the shop, the river of words swimming around us, and the softly playing instrumental music in the background all meld into a symphony of sensation, and at its peak when all the senses have been aroused, a single look sets it in motion.
          The thing about a look is that they come in all shapes and sizes, and that oftentimes the best are the smallest. It is in the slight, hinting gestures, as opposed to the obtuse and obvious ones, that a person’s true feelings are displayed. In this particular look, all it took was her eye to catch mine and hold it, if not for a second, in its embrace. Coupled with the shy, yet sensual smile that had rippled upon her lips, and I knew what I must do. Very carefully I lean forward, ever so slowly giving her every chance to secede, closer and closer till the electrons in the very atoms of our lips tingle and tickle each other, abuzz with excitement. She closes her eyes, the final sign, and we press together, for the first moment as one. My heart skips several beats and for a moment I almost die, but my soul is stronger than my body and wills to carry on, not wanting to let go of the moment. After a second or two the rush of blood subsides and I am safe to enjoy the touch. We break apart and gaze into one another’s eyes. I see her thoughts and she sees mine, clearly displayed above one another’s faces to be read off like a play. However, this is a play we do not yet know and we initially stumble over a few lines, our hearts pounding, each drum beat shaking us and causing us to further lose footing, slipping in our stream of words. But it is ok because even though we can't speak we have both peered into each other’s mind and seen all we need to so that we could not talk for an eternity and still be understood. Still nervous, I speak too quickly and my words are so thick in the air that they make her hair damp. I offer her a napkin to dab them off and stammer out an apology. She says it is fine and starts to laugh. Relieved, the lull is broken and as the dam comes down we both burst into laughter, so happy that the lights hanging about swing and sway with the renewed wave of our conversation. More smiles and light touches later and we finally get up to leave, hand in hand, bodies trembling with the endless possibilities of new love.

          "We need to talk, can we go for coffee?" she finally says after a lifetime of silence.
          "Ok, I'll be there at five."
          I stumble through the door; the overpowering musk of coffee beans smacks me upside the face. The bitter smell of burnt grounds bites my nose and refuses to let go. I drag myself to the counter and order my drink. I grab my coffee, black like the circles under my eyes, and locate her in the back corner next to a glum window, the rain outside blocking all light from illuminating her frizzled hair and tired face. I sit down and we both sigh at our mismatched beverage choices, hers an even darker espresso that looks like a black hole when I stare into its caffeinated depths. I ask why she drinks those things when there is so much caffeine in them and her expression slips further into a frown as she tells me they're the only thing that keeps her going anymore. The conversation drudges and the river runs still, a flat pond with no movement, no ripples to break its glass surface. All the other coffee-goers get cold despite their steaming drinks and pack up to go home. After a while we are both tense, each comment misconstrued and twisted like so many others before. Then in all the murk of the muddy pond around us, I see the look that sets it all in motion.
          The thing about looks is there are many varieties, all conveying a subtle under text that when picked up on, offers a much deeper understanding of true intentions. The look that gives her away is the painful grimace that flashes in her eyes among the strain of a forced smile that whispers "I can't do this anymore." Coupled with the arms she had had crossed since we sat down, and the way she held herself from a history we both had knowledge of, and I knew what I had to do. I leaned forward ever so slowly, as to give her every possible chance to stop me, and placed my hand on her shoulder. I pulled her closer and when she closed her eyes the motion was done.
          "It's over." she whispered in my ear.
          "I know." I whispered back. And the ocean broke loose. Waves crashed around us and thrashed the walls and broke the windows, letting the rain in from outside to further flood the room. We both look into each other’s eyes and I can't stand the swell building up in my chest. I say something that I don't mean and the remark knocks over the espresso machine, crashing it into the floor in a wave that's ice cold. She looks back quizzically, shocked and hurt. I gaze stoically back, unforgiving. The condensation in the air drips onto her hair and I offer her a napkin to dry it with, she flatly refuses, to proud and hurt to accept. I start to regret my comment and make a move to apologize, but the damage is down. She breaks down crying and gets up to leave, I tell her not to go, but the waves of my voice are drowned out by a much bigger roar raging above. She storms out and I reach for her but my hand is knocked away by an oncoming swell and I am dragged under into the depths. My last sight before going under is her getting into a car, a silhouette in the driver’s seat, and I am swept away. The waves of our words and my tears, now freely flowing from my face to the floor, drown me in streams unspoken.