5The café is always full.
The harsh lights dazzle me,
The noise sluices over me-
Comforting, in a way, I suppose.
No eye is trained on me as I enter.
A morass of swaying beings,
Moving as one-
Dank frowning suits,
Tired mothers-
All there for the same thing
Going different ways.
It's a battle getting to where you want;
Swimming upstream.
I seat myself awkwardly,
Elbows and words invading my space;
My own space – 5 short minutes of peace.
A girl sulks towards me,
Throws a coffee on my table.
Sways off.
She's pretty, but…
I watch her go.
She doesn't look back.
Yet another life I'll never know.
My coffee:
A familiar smell,
Black swirling black.
Spilt down the just-washed cup,
Half empty.
Industrial pot of cream (or so they say) on the side.
I've always had my coffee white;
An assumption always made,
The altered version first.
Tampered.
Changed.
Improved?
Black
Or White?
Rather radical leap,
Considering;
Essentially they are the same.
But they prefer white…
Odd, that.
My coffee tastes the same.
It always does.
I stand.
My seat is filled before I can take another breath.
A great automaton,
Whirring and clicking,
Never stopping.
Each component
A bundle of memories,
Experiences,
Emotions,
Isolated on their chairs,
At their tables,
Too scared to share or decipher their feelings.
There's a manager somewhere,
Arranging this chaos.
Shame he seldom graces us with his presence.
I turn to leave.
The noise becomes oppressive,
The lights are glaring.
The door opens smoothly and soundlessly.
Sudden breeze purges my senses.
I am safe and sad in the knowledge that
No-one will have noticed me leave.
No-one ever notices you leave.
The café seems dingy
And so small…
I can't hear the murmured cacophony any more,
But it still goes on;
People ebb and flow,
But the noise never stops