The seconds passed slowly and the ticking of the second hand rumbled in my brains like a drill.

Staring at the ceiling of the room I reflected a little on this madness. I never understood why I agreed to this ridiculous arrangement of having to wait for him to get out of bed to go make coffee together? I questioned my sanity at that moment and turned completely around to turn my back on him.

I came to think that he was pretending to be asleep just to annoy me, but no, he really was exhausted from the crazy things we did the night before. I turned again to look at him, so handsome, manly and so vigorous. Maybe that's why I'm still agonizing in his bed over a cup of coffee.

I remember when we first met, I was in that little coffee shop in Old Havana having my third cup of coffee and he walked by with his lying down and that sideways walk that characterizes Cubans. He walked on but as if attracted by a magnet he went back half a block until he was in front of the window sill of the cafeteria and our gazes met.

He winked at me and I swear I got lost in his smile and his emerald green eyes. He walked into the coffee shop and asked if he could join me, I said yes and offered him a coffee which he declined. I was surprised, I had never met someone who despised the precious dark liquid.

We started dating and it was love at first sight. The perfect couple doesn't exist, people say, but we were perfect for each other. Until it was time for a snack and I was craving for coffee.

The Venezuelan and the Cuban, always together like coffee and a cookie. But something always obscured our happiness and that was her rejection of coffee. As a crazy coffee lover, I set out to find out the reason for this rejection and I began to investigate without him noticing it, since whenever I touched the subject he felt uncomfortable and avoided me.

That night he invited me to his apartment, it would be our first night together and it was spectacular. If there is something Cubans have is that they surround you with a strange magic and personally I did not want to escape again.

When I woke up he found me in the kitchen stirring everything to prepare a good coffee. He told me not to waste my time because in his kitchen I would never find anything related to that cursed vice.

I was filled with anguish at the way he expressed himself about something that is so important to me. Then he explained to me that in a reading of the spindles and snails, his babalao told him that he should stay away from coffee because it was harmful to him and if he drank that liquid he could end up in the hospital or worse in the cemetery. I never challenge my saint " he told me and that is why he had nothing to do with coffee at home.

For a coffee lover these words were like a death sentence. I imagined a sad and colorless life, full of love but empty without my beloved coffee.

I explained to him that I loved him, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him but that I could not leave the café. He looked at me with those tender eyes and told me that he didn't want to be separated from me for a moment, so we went to see his babalao for a consultation.

The saints were happy for our union and for things that only they understand, they approved my boyfriend to drink a small cup of coffee in the mornings but only if we prepared it together.

Today we have been married for more than 10 years and we are very happy. He with his tiny cup and me with my jumbo Venezuelan style cup.

What my love doesn't know is that I have my own tricks to prepare my coffee on the sly without him and his saints knowing about it.