“In a coffee shop in town, i sit in a pretentious posture, listen to music i hate for people i loath. I sip on a bitter sweet coffee i order before, disgusted before, but it’s the lesser of all evils. Just double shot of bitter coffee, one shot of caramel, low fat, no cream, on other though extra shot of caramel for future diabetes and 2 other pretentious words that i like to say to you. Pause a moment and look around see what the cool people are drinking now.”
Some quiet alone time, divorcing myself from everyone and everything. Just me, my coffee, my notebook, a long worn off book and the shadow of my thoughts.
Curled up in my own corner writing words that no one may ever read, just running a light blue ink on clear white paper.
I sit here as my eyes swing from one face to the other as fragments of life unwind right in from of me like the threads of a tapestry, one thread at a time.
How people unravel themselves unknowingly. How their every rhythmic move, prancing walk, the way their hands brush their hair, even the clicks of their shoes say more about them than words ever will.
I am not a reader of people. Nor do I know about what’s behind their flesh’s façade. All I know is what they absent-mindedly whisper, from their unconscious to mine.
I sit here on an uncomfortably comfortable leather sofa wondering how many innocents, animals and humans, were killed to make this. Life is that worthless to many!!
I sit here analyzing every piece of furniture and creature in the room, and they gaze back at me trying to know what I see, what I write.
Tell me more, you stranger, why you carelessly care, innately judge, how dynamic is this to you?