When the foam is no longer fresh

I am in love with change and the feeling of being uprooted, but at the same time, my infatuation with keeping to patterns won’t go away.

As a consequence, I never stray far from the formula.

Earlier this evening, the well preserved memories were polluted with coldness — maybe by the lackluster of our exchange at yesterday’s lunch. Maybe by time and distance.

The foam of a latte is only shiny for about five minutes, after which, the layer of fine bubbles disintegrates.

Is this the point where everything begins to fall apart? I sat up in bed, in the dark, way past dinner time — exhausted. And like a tacky horror film, an hour later, a moment of flashback was thrown in by the Universe, to extinguish every ounce of optimism that I had regathered for “old” time’s sake.

It was a reminder. That I will never change. And the variables never change.