Literature and Love Letters (COMPLETED)

Sophia

The light danced across her supple mocha skin like... 

No. Delete Delete Delete. 

The water pooled effortlessly around her milky thighs like... 

Hell no! Milky thighs? That's just gross. 

I rub my temples and sigh bitterly as my tired eyes stare blankly at the empty cup sitting parallel to my computer, shamelessly blaming it for my inability to write anything good this evening. 

I've been stuck on the same sentence in my story for thirty-eight minutes exactly now because apparently, I can't seem to escape coffee based analogies. Writers' block can kiss my ass, that's for sure. 

"Clara, another French roast, soy milk, and two sugars please," I call out to the friendly barista I've come to desperately rely on since beginning my time at this university. 

This is the closest café to my apartment, and since I don't have a car it's been a saving grace when I get cabin fever. 

Clara gives me a nod of acknowledgment along with a flirtatious smile. Every time I choose this coffee shop I can feel the heat of her inquisitive gaze on me, but I try to ignore her obvious hints. It isn't that I don't think she's beautiful, she unmistakably is, my heart has just already been stolen by someone else. 

Someone that is forbidden. 

Trying to clear my mind, I take these moments of caffeine anticipation to stretch my legs under the table and fully absorb my surroundings. 

I yawn and wiggle my fingers, my stiff joints cracking slightly as I do in true writers’ fashion. 

Powdery White snow falls from the sky, and I'm selfishly overwhelmed with appreciation for the Cafe's central heating system and roaring wood burning fireplace. 

I wrap my baggy beige cotton clad arms around my chest and stare out at the deafening white as it plasters the streets in dangerous blankets. 

Wow, I do not want to walk home in that. 

My left hand instinctively moves upwards and rummages through my auburn hair as I lose myself even further to my own subconscious. 

I'm only slightly aware of just how shallow I must look right now with my green eyes trained outside, but their stare seeing things far off and flgurative. 

I've never liked the cold, but I've always loved the winter time. Warm sweaters, hot coffee, and fuzzy slippers hold a special place in my heart. Being cursed with the social skills of a sleep-deprived sloth, I value all things reclusive and otherwise solitary. 

Christmas has long passed, but bows and wreaths still decorate the lamp posts outside. The smell of pine takes its place in every establishment in the form of deep green candles this time of year, the upper-middle-class Caucasian population single-handedly keeping Bath and Body Works in business. 

I know I'm part of the problem, but I don't care. Choke me on the smells of winter, and I'll go oh so calmly into that good night. 

semester is just days away from starting back up. My heart pangs at the realization. 

Only a few more days until I get to see him again, but before I'm able to think too long about my own depraved fantasies I'm pulled back to a piping hot reality. 

"One Sophie special, hot and ready," Clara announces as she sets the beautiftu decorated beverage down on my table. Small droplets roll down the white ceramic side of the cup on to the purposefully aged wooden table below. 

I admire the top of the drink as she picks up my old cup and sets it on a nearby bussing tray. The cream on top is manipulated to form a leaf-like image that's pleasing to the eye, but otherwise pointless since I don't feel like taking a picture for my Instagram. Honestly, ifI shared every time I got a coffee on social media people would assume I was attempting suicide Via caffeine overdose. 

"Thank you very much," I say honestly, my gratitude bubbling over in girlish delight. I take a deep breath and inhale the rich sweet aroma, sighing happily as it soothes my wayward mind. 

"Ofcourse, anything else I can get for you?" Clara asks me with pleading golden irises, probably in hopes of delaying her inevitable return to her position at the register. 

"Actually." I say after a brief thought, my brain sneakily trying to pull me out of my writers' block "could you stick around for a moment while I describe you?" The barista blushes like mad at my request, and I honestly feel bad for getting her hopes up. I wish I could like her in return at least so that her efforts aren't completely wasted on me. 

But that is not the case, as much as her glossy stare tells me she wishes it were. I just desperately need to get past this portion of my story, and her obvious Latin heritage makes her the perfect muse. 

"Yeah, of course. What's it for?" She agrees with eager lips. "I'm writing a steamy novel, actually" I admit with a pale pink blush, knowing I must sound like a total perv right now. Clara agrees, but I can tell she doesn't know what to make of my admission. "Alright, well what do I have to do?" Clara shifts nervously between one foot and then the other, so I offer her a calming smile in return. "Just take a seat and relax, I'll handle the rest." 

Wow, this could not sound more inappropriate if I tried. 

Ignoring the urge to facepalm, I take a long slow gulp of my coffee then set it down on a decorative coaster nearby in an attempt to save the table from more stains. Clara sits across from me and iidgets slightly with unease, her fingers pawing at a loose strand of her black hair. She bites subconsciously on her bottom lip and tries with all her might to not make eye contact with me, but she's unknowingly sparked my creativity like a wildfire. 

The blush still clinging to her cheeks draws my attention as I stare at her, and I can feel the creative cogs un-sticking in my mind like a sweet summer rain after a long drought. 

I press my fingers back to my keyboard and start typing away like an offended blogger on a mission. 

'Her thick black hair was pulled back out of herface, exposing eyes the color of freshly mulled soil. Strands too short to stay tamed have fallen in front of herface, but she just ignores them. She crosses her sun-drenched thighs to mute the tightness building in her core as she looks upon her almost lover with delicious intent. The water has soaked him through by this point, causing her mouth to dry the likes of which she has never experienced before. She wants the person her eyes are clinging to more than she'd like to admit, but would she ever dare to confess these urges aloud?’ 

"That will about do it," I announce happily to Clara whose likeness will forever be embedded in my freshly started romance novel. "Great, I‘m so glad I could help," she giggles coyly at me, no doubt desperate to read what I think about her appearance. 

"Mind if I read it?" She predictably asks me, nervousness evident on her dark features. 

"Why not," I agree, but just as I'm about to turn my laptop screen towards Clara for her viewing pleasure, a familiar tone sounds through my speakers that stops me in my tracks. I check the time on my wristwatch and feel my heart begin to race as I notice the hour hand resting neatly on the seven o' clock marker. 

"Actually, I'm sorry Clara, I have to go, but I promise you can read it next time I stop by." Her face falls, but I can hardly be bothered with validating her today. I shove everything into my bag as quickly as I can and slip my wooly coat back onto my torso. 

I shoot a fleeting glance at Clara as I place one hand on the cafe door. She seems genuinely dejected, so I make sure to offer her some form of comfort before braving the frozen elements. "Next time Clara, honestly, I promise!"