cappuccino, por favore.

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"where did you come from?" he stared daggers into me as i recoiled, worried his voice would fall with the next judgment of his expectation—a moment of disgust, or, more realistically, a disbelief of feasibility of the compatibility between us. i realize the daggers are not what they appear, and instead it's a genuine disbelief that he found me.

for a moment, i realize the fear i've kept close from the lack of enamorment, the empty reception i've never garnered from past lovers, it was all for naught; as i have somehow, someway, in the midst of all the pain and anger and war that swirls around us, found someone who i can't believe is actually in love with me.

i'm determined in this moment to never prove him wrong, and, for once in my life, not talk him out of it.