11-13-2012, 11:54 AM
Hiding from the drudgery of a wet monday morning, I found myself in a crowded café using espresso rings to count my sips as I absorbed caffeine. My not quite there gaze, was still trying to reclaim lost sleep when it stummbled on a smiling face. I quickly placed my attention elsewhere to avoid further contact. But as always I caught myself looking back, 'an inquisative nature' I said out loud, confirmation that the eyes were unknown and still looking. Strangley for me I began to feel at ease with the situation.
Never taking its eyes from mine it moved through the rush hour customers and sat at my small wooden table.
There was a strange intoxicating odour that drifted as an idea of something forgotten, a cherished moment, promising the warmth and security of something heart-felt. Somehow I was trapped in its essence, drifting for what seemed like an age until the moment broke on the comedic clatter of a smashed plate, followed by the usual jeer from the house crowd. Happy for the momentary distraction, I tried to look away staring blankly at the newspaper in front of me.
I was aware my senses were dulling but I couldn't react, the stranger leaned across to me and like a mirror image I had to do the same. A sweet voice whispered into the air around me changing from male to female as it gots stronger, louder, it sounded too familiar, like every voice I’d ever trusted speaking at the same time in different languages. The whispering took form “What is it you are looking for” softly said as though I had asked a question. The drone of the coffee shop had all but gone and the air between us had become pungent, sickly-sweet. I was lost again, my gaze wandered and rolled. The stranger was wearing a long overcoat that had intricate, understated patterns, embroidered black on black. In my suspended state I could feel the labour in the fabric, the years trapped in each small stitch, tiny traces of light broke like waves beneath the patterns that changed shape as the stranger breathed.
Without warning the stranger extended a witherned hand, contrasted by perfectly manicured fingers, never before had a gesture seemed so inviting, I may have even smiled as my hand touched its palm.
The coffee shop was so busy that day, no one saw the stranger, no one saw me, no one even noticed as we crossed the threshold dropping out of time with current moments split by light, she told me later that I had asked to leave and that the resonance of the wood in the table had caused him to be there at my chosen time.
I write this now in hope that an image will somehow pass through reversed moments and onto a computer screen, if you are reading this then I have been successful and you are about to take the journey of your life……Turn around I have arrived.
Never taking its eyes from mine it moved through the rush hour customers and sat at my small wooden table.
There was a strange intoxicating odour that drifted as an idea of something forgotten, a cherished moment, promising the warmth and security of something heart-felt. Somehow I was trapped in its essence, drifting for what seemed like an age until the moment broke on the comedic clatter of a smashed plate, followed by the usual jeer from the house crowd. Happy for the momentary distraction, I tried to look away staring blankly at the newspaper in front of me.
I was aware my senses were dulling but I couldn't react, the stranger leaned across to me and like a mirror image I had to do the same. A sweet voice whispered into the air around me changing from male to female as it gots stronger, louder, it sounded too familiar, like every voice I’d ever trusted speaking at the same time in different languages. The whispering took form “What is it you are looking for” softly said as though I had asked a question. The drone of the coffee shop had all but gone and the air between us had become pungent, sickly-sweet. I was lost again, my gaze wandered and rolled. The stranger was wearing a long overcoat that had intricate, understated patterns, embroidered black on black. In my suspended state I could feel the labour in the fabric, the years trapped in each small stitch, tiny traces of light broke like waves beneath the patterns that changed shape as the stranger breathed.
Without warning the stranger extended a witherned hand, contrasted by perfectly manicured fingers, never before had a gesture seemed so inviting, I may have even smiled as my hand touched its palm.
The coffee shop was so busy that day, no one saw the stranger, no one saw me, no one even noticed as we crossed the threshold dropping out of time with current moments split by light, she told me later that I had asked to leave and that the resonance of the wood in the table had caused him to be there at my chosen time.
I write this now in hope that an image will somehow pass through reversed moments and onto a computer screen, if you are reading this then I have been successful and you are about to take the journey of your life……Turn around I have arrived.
seems good other than that.
