Bitter Coffee
She hasn't seen him in over three years. She remembers their last encounter - she didn't know it then that it'd be their last - with the bittersweet aftertaste of someone who's left too many things unsaid. And it frustrates her. Her cowardice. His silence. Her love for him. His indifference. All the would have beens and could have beens outweighing what she knows deep in her heart are should have beens. She sighs, stirring her coffee and reveling in the fact she's in New York. It only took her three years, but she's made it. She slings her bag over her shoulder, secures the lid on her to-go cup and stares at her feet as she exits the Starbucks. She should have paid attention to where she was going. "I'm sorry," a masculine voice says, taking all of the blame. "No, it was totally my fault," she has yet to look up as she brushes the drops of coffee off her jacket. She knows it's hopeless; knows you can't brush liquid...