A letter, to you --
The small cafe tucked in the corner of the outdoor mall seems to fit my description of ‘quaint’ rather well. Small breakfast tables and polished wooden chairs are arranged carefully in a checked-like pattern across the floor-space. The morning sounds and smells gently welcome its visitors; the aroma of coffee beans permeates deeply into every awakening mind. And the constant squeaking of the wooden chair legs as they rub backwards against the beige-tinted floor tiles, whenever someone scoots their chair back to leave or to go track down some cream to add to their bland morning coffee. Sometimes, I like to listen to the squeaking and laugh quietly to myself, imagining that’s their way of saying, good morning.
With relatively dim lighting, a glass wall to the far left side allows the pale light to wander in and cast shadows across the light brown walls; and as the shadows dance, they whisper of mystery and madness, giving the room a curious feel. And there are several booths, all covered in light brown leather, that hide in the little nooks at the very edges of the cafe, where it opens up into the rest of the brilliantly-lit world outside. The table that sits just in front of the booth in the right corner is where you’d find me, occupying myself for hours upon end; studying, researching, reading, or just watching people come and go. The soft electric lighting of the room gives the place a warm glow. I think that’s part of why people come back here, again and again, every morning.
One of my favorite things about the charming little cafe is contemplating the diversity of people who visit it; people going about with their busy work day, and I sometimes wonder if they stop to notice the world passing by in front of them, if they ever stop to think about how they got to where they are now. But most of them just rush past to the next thing on their schedule, and I can’t help but feeling sorry for them because there’s beauty in the simple things that they take for granted. But it’s still incredible how they all feel a sense of belonging here, to diligently come every morning for their coffee and breakfast roll. In a strange sort of way, even though no one knows my name, it almost feels like another part of home. I’m invisible, and for once, I like it that way.
This morning, I saw an elderly lady visiting the coffee shop with her young granddaughter. The little girl tosses her golden ringlets over her shoulder as she bounced around after her grandmother, free and fearless. Her missing front two teeth perfected her adorable smile; her dimples standing out prominently on both sides of her cherub cheeks. Her face was wind-chapped, but only barely; just enough to draw out a soft pink color that hinted at an innocent child-like blush of pure bliss. I smiled, knowing that she was absolutely in love with life, and wishing I could feel the same way again. That little girl who danced around without a care in the world didn’t know what it felt like to be utterly heartbroken, to be seduced by death’s cold kiss, to be wandering aimlessly and feeling like no one cared, feeling like hope had died. She hadn’t yet felt the pain of loneliness, or the softness of salty tears that slide down pale cheeks and try to bring even the slightest comfort. She was beautiful because she didn’t fear the unknown; she was beautiful because she still believed in loving others unconditionally. And that’s something I want to learn to believe in again, after being broken so many times.
But this is one of those days where I won’t let myself think about being lonely. I’ll spend today huddled in the corner of the cafe, sipping a latte, and listening to a favorite song over and over again. If I’m able to pull from my head from the clouds long enough to focus, I’ll immerse myself in a book, probably one on foreign policy that I found collecting dust on some shelf at the library, or maybe a classic from my own bookshelf.
It’s late morning and I know what happens next at this point. The early morning sky will fade from soft pastels to a brilliant blue, and I’ll spend the next few moments pondering the various shades of color that now frame the clouds. Then I’ll exit the cafe and stroll down the sidewalk by myself, going nowhere in particular, just walking forever until the sidewalk ends. There’ll be a strong summer breeze to sweep through and rustle the leaves in the trees, but I’ll be too busy solving problems in my head to pay much attention. But I’m sure the breeze will also carry along the crisp scent of freshly-ground coffee beans, and that’s what will wake me up again in the end. Maybe the breeze will be kind enough to carry me away from here to someplace paradise.
The corner cafe reminds me of how simple life can be, even though it always seems tangled and twisted while living through it. I wish this heartache would go away.
Sincerely,
--
Scribbles
P.S. I’ve found that one of the best ways to get to know a person, to really know them, is to discover their perspective on the world. These letters are my views of our crazy world. Take them or leave them, this is part of life through my eyes.
