Rossetto e caffè

A scent hangs in the air, a mixture of tobacco, perfume, and belated regret. Everything has already been said, but my fingers still reach for the phone as if a chance to bring back the past, even for just one call, is hidden there. The voice trembles, the laughter sounds a bit forced, and that same "what if they answer" is still swirling in my chest. The taste of her on my lips is a reminder of her: half-dissolved coffee, a trace of lipstick, and a little bit of madness. Love that doesn't die, but simply turns into the habit of breathing her name. And no matter how much I pour into the glass, the intoxication from it is still sweet, bitter, helpless, like a promise made too late.