Sweet estranged lives

When was coffee unlike the night parting for early dawn;
dark, strong, and brewing of energy in the air.

When was night unlike coffee getting cold and aroma gone;
dull, strong, and unscreaming of a muted affair.

When, o when..

Was it when the songs became my music?
Was it when I befriended my lonesome self?

You know, I woke up this morning without a thought of you.
I did not seek your warmth, and enjoyed the morning dew.
Alone, I went on.

I was OK and you're away,
I was fine without a kiss.

Damn it! each and everyday
Steadily, I hate this.