“I forgot our coffee,” I said.

“Again?” she said. This sucks. There’s nothing worse than forgetting something.

I forgot what her breath smells like. I remembered that when I breathed into my mug this morning. I forget what coffee smells like. I forgot the coffee. 

Again? She said. Or maybe she said 

“It’s okay, P.” She probably said that. She called me P, which was awesome. I probably said.

“I forgot the coffee again.” 

Because it wasn’t the first time I’d left it on the counter. Yes, now I hear my sigh of again as I said it. I’d make it, then I’d smell it. Yeah, that’s what it smells like, that’s right. Then I’d leave it on the counter.
She was waiting outside of the stern brick library. It rained as I walked. Her hair was dry, because she wears her hood, but her nose was red. I wanted to smell the soil, the wet cobblestones that smelled bad and so, good. But I was trying to remember something else the whole walk over, and when I saw her red eyes and her dry hair, I remembered the coffee on the counter. I wished, for a second, that I had brought the coffee with me. Then it passed, and I only wished to be inside the library, because I was cold, and they sometimes had coffee, and I was angry at myself for forgetting the coffee, and her red cheeks was inhaling her breath and I wasn’t, not anymore I’m not. But that’s not because of the coffee. 

I still haven’t asked myself whether she wanted the coffee, or whether my nose was red. What she wanted was me, outside the library. She probably thought to herself, he doesn’t wear his hood. His hair, it’s wet. We’re so different, him and I. Though we must both be red nosed, she probably noticed. She looked wide awake, and so was I, but so was she, and so I wasn’t, for I didn’t want to work, I wanted coffee and the library to be cold so that I could keep my jacket on. I wanted to stand still, outside the library with my coffee and my friend and remark the warmth of her nose and cheeks on my fingertips, gently. 

I want coffee. I want to stay up all night. I want to go to sleep, and never wake up. I want to wake up early in the morning, before anyone could call it warm, and go outside in my underpants, and feel it on my skin. Touch my cheek and remember, rather regretting. 

I want so many things from her, so many things forgotten. All that’s left is “I want … from her.” That won’t cut it. Not when it’s that cold tomorrow. It’ll be warmer tomorrow. Damn it, you’re right.

She was waiting for me, outside the library. I never showed up and I left her in the cold and maybe it kept raining. But I couldn’t forget our coffee, so I left her to get it. When I arrived, the coffee was cold, and oh, that’s what it smelled like, at least I remember now. Cold and sorry.