Bitter vs. Sweet

*Note, this is a demo of a song I wrote. There's relations to the blog below. Enjoy.


I take a sip from my tin travel mug as my truck comes to a halt at red lit intersection, fighting the bitterness that attacks my mouth. I’ve always had a thing for drinking hot water (no, I’m not 65 years old.) and for as long as I’ve had this mug it’s been a coffee virgin; all until a couple of months ago when possessed with the demons of a failed relationship and a desperation to keep from sleeping (to prevent dreaming of her – The Starting Line reference. You’re welcome) I impulsively poured some 7eleven coffee into the pure, clean container. Ever since then, regardless of the thorough cleaning jobs, my hot water has been coming out contaminated with that corroded, dark drug that is caffeine.

Now I cringe as I carry on the task of cleaning out my truck, which had began to resemble a bottle depot with all the empty water bottles and what not scattered anywhere and everywhere. I also found a glass bottle of jalapeno wine to which I’m declining to speak about at this moment. The rain pitter patters on my truck’s cracked windshield and reminds me of how crappy the weather has been. It seems like it hasn’t stopped raining since she left. I reach into the darkness of the passenger seat, pulling out the odd hair clip – fossils of that brief affair, horrible in its final stretch. Maybe it was her only option to provoke the dialogue that would end it all, but for the last few weeks of our relationship, she did not treat me very well. A hug from me could cause her great irritation. I remember taking a picture with a tree by myself on our holiday because she did not want to be in it. But whatever. I looked good. Sad though. I would lay there on our hotel bed silently as she watched the television, refusing to have a conversation with me. She took my photo off her cell phone wall paper. And it worked. I ended up confronting her 1000 km away from home and she ended it right then and there. In the days that followed, I could immediately tell that she was happier than she ever was in my arms. I can’t help but think about those times with such bitterness.



In the last stretch of my cleaning I discovered a zip lock bag filled with cookies; a book mark from that trip 2 months ago. She had packed it for the drive and they were damn good cookies. It brought me back to that night on the hotel bed, while those heavy words dropped out of her mouth I was screaming inside, “Don’t do this! Why can’t you remember all the great times we’ve had? You’ll change your mind if you would just remember! Like that time on your momma’s porch. The sun was shining and we lingered there before I had to go home. I told you that you were stuck with me and you smiled and said you had no problem with it! Why don’t you just remember??” Literally though, that was one of the best moments of my life (not the break up, the summer on her momma’s porch). Just like the lyrics in Bryan Adam’s Summer of 69. Sigh. Point is, I had forgotten that moment up until these cookies, which is ironic because there I was screaming for her to remember it, and now here I am just remembering it myself.

Does bitterness consume us to a point where good memories are lost? Were these cookies that I found a sign that I need to let go of the things that have upset me for the sake of preserving the great moments that I deserve to remember? Is it bad to eat 2 month old cookies? I think about these important questions as I bite into the hard dry dessert which still has the same sweetness that I remembered. And with that, all the laughter and great times flooded back to me. The touch of her hand in mine at the art gallery; the conversations over hot chocolate; the LRT rides; the John Mayer concert; my strange kisses that made her giggle; introducing her to my friends at a wedding; the walks. We had great times together regardless of the break up. It’ll be a shame to forget them, no? And another thing ab-- *choke*

I reach for the mug to wash down the sweet dry cookie, apparently a little harder to swallow than anticipated (see what I’m doing here?) but I stop. Maybe this cookie discovery is trying to teach me something. Maybe it's the last chance for me to leave the past on a sweet note or in this case a sweet tooth. I don’t need that bitterness in my mouth again. Have you swallowed your cookies yet?