To "Frédéric Dumont", who, should the time comes when you find our correspondence dull and tiring, I shall dearly miss.

...I believe this is how I would feel.

---

It couldn’t have been the coffee. True; it tasted raw and was rather pungent, but it was also a far cry from what you would consider tossing out unto the pavement, or getting a fresh refill of. You believe that the possibility that what made you feel somewhat off was the garlic in your half-eaten slice of bread was too common a reason that you simply raised your cup of untouched coffee to your lips and try to at least bear the native taste of it and gulp down a sip as well as an oncoming wince.

You would have loved to reason out that it was the company, but nobody would believe you anyway. In fact, saying it out loud to nobody in general or thinking about it would only make you feel worse than you already do, simply because the party you’d like to accuse was nonexistent, and has remained that way for a while.

A sudden idea comes to mind, and you indulge it. You exhale, but it comes out like a forced sigh, out of place and sounding as tired as a sleep-deprived nicotine addict’s; not quite the effect you so wanted to have—you actually hoped that it would come out rather relaxed… rather more like your usual self.

Then you think to yourself that perhaps you were being rather delusional. The thought that you were imagining things—from the taste of your coffee to the overly dramatic effect of your sigh—made you feel a little bit of comfort. Yes, that’s right. This is simply nothing more than just a phase, you tell yourself. But somehow, it still feels absolutely wrong. And now you don’t know which is worse: that you’re feeling this way, or the fact that there is simply nothing you can do about it.

A sound momentarily distracts you from your thoughts, and you blink as you watch a woman slightly bend forward to pick a stone from the pavement and toss it over her shoulder to the river in front of your favourite Parisian café. She leaves, and you cannot help but ponder what it was that went through her mind when she did what she did.

That’s when you pause, and all your worries seem to dissipate along with your need to and for reason; and you think to yourself that yes, perhaps it really was the coffee.