A book and a cup of coffee to immerse myself in stories

When I get the chance, I sit at the ebony table with a good book and coffee. It's a pleasure that I can't pass up. It fills my senses and surpasses no other moment.

My taste for this custom would seem like a vice, but one that I enjoy too much and has its origins many years ago. I will tell you how my beautiful addiction became almost a way of life.

In the '90s decade, when I was a teenager, learning about the difficult situations in life that often turn our world upside down, I discovered the fascination of reading and immersing myself in letters, many of them full of fantasy that made the imagination fly, others of drama, others of suspense, others of humor and others of action.

At that moment, I found an escape or refuge, so to speak, from that difficult time for everyone. I think that reading and later writing was an outlet for feelings and hormones in revolution, a great friend who was always there in spite of all the difficult and complicated situations I faced.

But I was missing something to close this circle and complement my addiction, routine, and the great moment that took my life. I remember it was a rainy afternoon, and as usual, I was sitting reading one of my books. My mother came over with a delicious cup of coffee and said, “Have some coffee to warm up your body on this cold day.” She left the cup on the table and walked out of the room.

“Thank you, Mom, precious,” I said before she disappeared through the doorway.

He turned, blew a kiss, and disappeared down the hallway. I was still immersed in reading and took the coffee cup with my right hand. I could feel the warmth of the porcelain. I lifted the cup from the saucer and directed it to my mouth as my eyes focused on the book, and something happened to me. I don't know if it was the caffeine, but at that moment reading took me to another sensory world.

The story came to life in my mind while the coffee took over every corner of my body. My dilated pupils devoured each letter with an almost infinite hunger, and I wanted more, not only of reading but of coffee, black and hot. I smiled when I discovered how wonderful it felt to read with a delicious cup of coffee.

Since then, my great pleasure has been reading with a delicious cup of coffee. I have done it regularly since I was a teenager, and it has become part of my life and, at this moment, an overflowing passion for writing stories and poems.

If reading with a cup of coffee is very pleasurable, writing is another level of pleasure, and as long as my pencil is sharp, the blank page is blank, and a cup of coffee is on my table, any story can come to life and delight those who read.