Coulda woulda shoulda

That afternoon, one of the many we spent drinking coffee before you left, was one of the first of spring. It still felt chilly, yet the sun was shining over the terrace, and there were only a few people besides you and me. They were drinking cold milkshakes, and you laughed when I told you they would get a sore throat. We sat down, and you did not want to face the sun, for fear you would get burnt. I ordered a cup of cappuccino and you got the usual long espresso with milk. The tender smell was enough to let me drift to other places and the taste was like a classical symphony melting inside my mouth and spreading its colors inside my body. So I smiled at you, kissed a stray ray of sun on my lips, closed your image behind my eyelid and shut my eyes, lying there like a lizard in the sun. You were telling me some follies to make me laugh, as usual, while the taste of coffee still lingered, and the warmth wrapped me with bliss.

After that all was silent.

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quiet, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
(Rabindranath Tagore, A Moment's Indulgence)