2004-12-11
The Cafe
Now it feels more free and less rushed. I'm not pinned to a wall or to strings; now I will write.
Grey. Dreary. Afternoons that pick you up and carry your imagination to the farthest of places. Look up into the silver sky and imagine yourself on some cloud--of long ago--perched and dreaming.
Long ago, I dreamed. I closed my eyes and dared to think I could create. Odd, that thing called "creation"...that it suddenly hits you--an urge made of lead. A lead glove that slaps you across the face--that's what it's like.
Sitting in the cafe today--wrapped in my white hoodie; drinking ice-coffee...the red-white striped straw bouncing back and forth gently between my fingers...my lips kissing the edges gently.
I got up and walked towards the glass doors--there were ladies in black sitting outside. Zipping up the hoodie and tossing my UrbanOxide Metro-Pouch over my shoulder, I headed towards the car.
Winters feel so lonely
I began thinking to myself...my mind produced a fragile image of gentle tears streaming down my face--last winter. With Roger.
I passed by more coffee shops. Past glass windows--moving pictures--of muted conversations. And at times, I'd like to know what those conversations consist of. Of ladies with legs crossed and heels tapping the floors; gentlemen running a hand through their hair; flipping through books and folding the edges of soft napkins.
Winters feel so lonely
I see the wave of crows above my head; leaves turning color; the wind howling against my face. Now the car keys are twisting about my index and thumb, and I'm desperately trying to hum my favorite Chopin etude. My other hand tries to play it on the imaginary keys in the breeze.
Getting into the car, there's that irritating ding, ding, ding sound that I suppose is made when one hasn't fastened their seatbelts, but I am not quite sure.
My head is gently laid on the steering wheel, and I let go...I begin to sob. Two boys pass by and glance inside the car, at the dark-haired girl crying her eyes out. I put my hood over my head and continue crying--tear-drops staining my jeans.