Sit Down, and write.
-----
On weekends, I usually go over to this coffee shop (yes I keep talking about them lately, I seem to always be at one, outside of one. Literally, they've become my second home). It's hard to think of a place that can provide me the solace I seek. It's hunger. For what? I am not sure.
-----
I come in, and every time I'm flustered as I take out my wallet. Every time, it happens: searching my backpack for my wallet, leaving a book at home, losing material things all the time (the reason why I cannot own expensive things). Strands of hair are always inching to come closer to my eyes, ruining my vision, giving me a blurry view of the person I hand over the one dollar fifty. Green tea, please, but sometimes, hot green tea latte - either, or. It never changes. I never bother. Their drinks leave something to be desired. I always feel like a smooch if I just casually walk in to steal their internet, but dammit, sometimes I wish I would. The tea is not even good.
Once I hand over the money, I plop my bag on the floor, my books on the table, and start my screen. I tap my foot incessantly, creating a beat that jars with the casual conversation of the place, with the awful Christmas songs they've put on lately. I usually stay there until I can no longer bear the cold - because of course we've become so attached to air conditioners, we cannot stand any temperature above 75 degrees. It's almost like we want to insulate ourselves from nature - the wind. It's ok folks, a little sweating won't do you harm. Besides, we are meant to perspire, it lets the bad things go. I always wan to tell them, but they'd scoff at me. Instead, we waste precious energy, even wearing a sweater while at it.
The routine never drastically changes.
It was summer, and the air was stifling. I was flustered, but less so than usual. The lull of summer drew me inside, as I usually sat in the outdoor patio sitting outside. My damp skin didn't complain, remember it's ok to let bad things go?
"An iced green tea please with one pump of sweetener."
My voice always projects out of my control. My voice can be extremely loud, and barely audible. My order came out as an feeble whisper. He seemed pensive, serious. He inched closer to the cash register. His thick eyebrows raised a few centimeters above their state.
"Iced green tea. On pump of sweetener, please."
He took my money, and I turned around intent on finding a table in the corner of the place. One thing I dislike is being in the entrance of places. All the while I was envisioning his expression, it kept replaying a bit. He seemed like a guys' guy - if that makes sense. You see, I've grown with a lot of men that were vastly different. I couldn't help it, but I stereotyped him. This guy probbably likes to drink beers with his bud, and sit around and talk about cars and girls, and girls, and other manly stuff. I mean, he had the muscles, and a tattoo. His smile was trembling a bit, as if it was a stranger that came to visit his face.
It's been numerous weeks, now, almost the whole quarter of me going in once in a while to study in that specific location - which is a bit out of my way. I like to see his smile. His smile is a bit flat, probably due to the fact that he works at Starbucks and his smile is worn out. His eyes curve a little when he smiles, and I can see genuine friendliness oozing out from the corners of his eyes. Maybe he feels sorry that I always come in to study alone, at random times of the weekend, wether it's late at night or noon. I think he as seen me sit there for hours, reading, writing personal pages, sometimes sitting outside and people gazing. I like it that way though, being alone. Most of the time. So far I've felt okay. His smile always lingers a bit, and sometimes so do his eyes. I love his eyes, for just meeting them straight on those couple of times. His eyes warm mine, it's kinda weird.
I'll probably stop going soon. When I start to notice comfort I flee. It's an instinct. My heart is so jaded, even without having gone out with many - hardly any guys and it's not really those guys' faults. My life keeps everyone away. Sometimes, i'm horrible that way. I've always done this, and sometimes I don't know how to stop.
His eyes will stay with me, still. I don't know how to make that stop either.
-----
On weekends, I usually go over to this coffee shop (yes I keep talking about them lately, I seem to always be at one, outside of one. Literally, they've become my second home). It's hard to think of a place that can provide me the solace I seek. It's hunger. For what? I am not sure.
-----
I come in, and every time I'm flustered as I take out my wallet. Every time, it happens: searching my backpack for my wallet, leaving a book at home, losing material things all the time (the reason why I cannot own expensive things). Strands of hair are always inching to come closer to my eyes, ruining my vision, giving me a blurry view of the person I hand over the one dollar fifty. Green tea, please, but sometimes, hot green tea latte - either, or. It never changes. I never bother. Their drinks leave something to be desired. I always feel like a smooch if I just casually walk in to steal their internet, but dammit, sometimes I wish I would. The tea is not even good.
Once I hand over the money, I plop my bag on the floor, my books on the table, and start my screen. I tap my foot incessantly, creating a beat that jars with the casual conversation of the place, with the awful Christmas songs they've put on lately. I usually stay there until I can no longer bear the cold - because of course we've become so attached to air conditioners, we cannot stand any temperature above 75 degrees. It's almost like we want to insulate ourselves from nature - the wind. It's ok folks, a little sweating won't do you harm. Besides, we are meant to perspire, it lets the bad things go. I always wan to tell them, but they'd scoff at me. Instead, we waste precious energy, even wearing a sweater while at it.
The routine never drastically changes.
It was summer, and the air was stifling. I was flustered, but less so than usual. The lull of summer drew me inside, as I usually sat in the outdoor patio sitting outside. My damp skin didn't complain, remember it's ok to let bad things go?
"An iced green tea please with one pump of sweetener."
My voice always projects out of my control. My voice can be extremely loud, and barely audible. My order came out as an feeble whisper. He seemed pensive, serious. He inched closer to the cash register. His thick eyebrows raised a few centimeters above their state.
"Iced green tea. On pump of sweetener, please."
He took my money, and I turned around intent on finding a table in the corner of the place. One thing I dislike is being in the entrance of places. All the while I was envisioning his expression, it kept replaying a bit. He seemed like a guys' guy - if that makes sense. You see, I've grown with a lot of men that were vastly different. I couldn't help it, but I stereotyped him. This guy probbably likes to drink beers with his bud, and sit around and talk about cars and girls, and girls, and other manly stuff. I mean, he had the muscles, and a tattoo. His smile was trembling a bit, as if it was a stranger that came to visit his face.
It's been numerous weeks, now, almost the whole quarter of me going in once in a while to study in that specific location - which is a bit out of my way. I like to see his smile. His smile is a bit flat, probably due to the fact that he works at Starbucks and his smile is worn out. His eyes curve a little when he smiles, and I can see genuine friendliness oozing out from the corners of his eyes. Maybe he feels sorry that I always come in to study alone, at random times of the weekend, wether it's late at night or noon. I think he as seen me sit there for hours, reading, writing personal pages, sometimes sitting outside and people gazing. I like it that way though, being alone. Most of the time. So far I've felt okay. His smile always lingers a bit, and sometimes so do his eyes. I love his eyes, for just meeting them straight on those couple of times. His eyes warm mine, it's kinda weird.
I'll probably stop going soon. When I start to notice comfort I flee. It's an instinct. My heart is so jaded, even without having gone out with many - hardly any guys and it's not really those guys' faults. My life keeps everyone away. Sometimes, i'm horrible that way. I've always done this, and sometimes I don't know how to stop.
His eyes will stay with me, still. I don't know how to make that stop either.
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