At dawn, the world blurs—an espresso-shot horizon where dreams distill into dark nectar. What brews beneath the crema?
Consider the cup not as vessel, but as a portal—a circumference of solitude holding the universe in a bitter embrace. Sip, and time dissolves, leaving moonlit trails in its wake.
Does the coffee drink you as you sip the coffee? Brewed Truth or To Be Conscious.
Between sip and silence lies the answer, hiding beneath the foam, like whispers in the steam—listen closely, for the espresso speaks in riddles.