I met my younger self for coffee

I met my younger self for coffee today,

She chose hers iced, with milk in the way.

I took mine hot, black as a shadow's fold,

Darker than the stories that I've never told.

She looked at me with a cheerful grin and asked me why I'm sluggish.

I said “Just give me a minute let me take a sip of this rubbish.

For this is how I function now."

She asked me why, and I replied,

"Because life’s just a series of blows until we’ve died."

My younger self looked at me, absolutely terrified,

The notion that life gets difficult, her unscathed self couldn't justify.

"Do we get hurt in life?" she sighed.  

It broke my heart to steal the light,  

When I whispered, "Yes, we hurt, day and night."

The iced drink suddenly wasn’t the only thing cold.

Her gaze, a shiver, quiet and bold.  

Her eyelids lowered, deep in thought,  

As she pondered the battles that we’ve fought.

I tried to shield my weary gaze,  

Cracked a smile through a clouded haze.  

I showed her fragments of brighter days,  

But she saw through the veil of my so called cheery gaze.

Then came the question I’d tried to avoid,

"Is our best friend still alive?" she sighed.

I sighed back, "No, our father’s gone."

And silence fell, as we both moved on,

Refusing the truth, a year has passed,

But that’s the thing that makes me last.

And coffee, too, is what keeps me sane,

And in this quiet denial, we both remained.

I wished I could tell her it all gets better,  

That joy returns like a forgotten letter.  

But she heard the truth in my trembling tone,  

And knew that my hope was just skin and bone.

She sipped her iced coffee, now warm and sweet,  

I sipped my hot Americano, cold as defeat.  

We drank in silence, hearts intertwined,  

Then I spoke softly, the truth we can’t deny.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice unkind,  

"The future for us is not gentle, and nor is it kind."