A scene

Not quite a story not quite a poem more of a scene

Reaching for the cup of coffee sitting silently in front of me, I discreetly shift my posture so as to adjust the tension in my feet. Ah my feet that screams at me to get up and flee, flee in disbelief of what your slightly crooked lips speak. Regardless to say, I stay not only to listen but to console, to tell you it was me not you who was weak.