There are coffees that are gulped down in one gulp. Others that go cold while we talk about everything and nothing. And some that are prepared with care, measuring the time, the aroma, the temperature. Connections are very similar to that: to the way we prepare, serve, and share a cup of coffee.

There are relationships that They are served hot, those that begin with intensity, desire, and enthusiasm. They're bonds that burn quickly, that capture you in the moment and make you feel alive. But like any freshly brewed coffee, if you don't let them steep a bit, they can burn. Sometimes you just need to pause to savor, listen, and understand the other person without rushing.

There are also relationships latte, soft, sweet, comforting. The kind that surprise not with fire, but with constancy. Latte relationships are a universe in themselves, less fireworks and more constant shelter. If espressos shake you, lattes envelop you. They are those bonds where there are no shocks or awkward silences; where affection doesn't scream, but lingers. And there are also American relationships, in which the flavor is diluted with distance, space, and prudence. Relationships Americans are lighter and more distant, there is affection but also a lot of space. Or the cappuccino, balanced, with a foam of humor and tenderness. They're not a caffeine hit or a sugar bath. They're that perfect point between the intensity of espresso and the sweetness of milk, where everything blends with foam—that light layer that isn't substance, but soul. They're bonds that know how to converse: with a scent of trust, with gentle pauses and a tenderness that settles on top like foam that isn't stirred, that lingers for a while, watching you shine when you speak. There's something almost ritualistic about a cappuccino: just the right warmth, the exact proportion, the art of caring. These are the people who know how to listen without interrupting, embrace without invading, love without suffocating.

And of course, there are those that grow cold. Those that, due to distraction or routine, are forgotten on the table. Not because love has been lost, but because the ritual has been neglected.

Affection, like coffee, isn't served automatically: it requires attention, warmth, and presence. Perhaps that's what love is: knowing when to stir, when to let it steep, and when to look at the other person and say—without words— “I prepared your coffee the way I like to hear it: with time, without rushing, and with a little soul.”