gusto kong maging kape

in another bout of self-flagellation, i wonder about being coffee. how it would be like to be coffee and not cola, or juice, or tap. the little girl in me, the one screaming bloody murder whenever my cynicism pulls out a knife on her, still wishes that somehow, someday, somebody will come. he doesn't have to come on a white horse, he doesn't need to come in shining armor, he just needs to fucking get here.

i've said it before, and i'll say it again. this is just like waiting for godot - except in waiting for godot [the play, dammit], Estragon and Vladimir at least had each other.