I watch them now from the cafe’ window, moving with the frantic pace of the well put together, chasing subjective affections, and masking themselves to make a good first impression, only to be let go and replaced for taking off the mask.
Dreams of love and legacies sink into the dirt and detritus of unrealized potential, ceiling glass ambition.
The good in them has been averted by a hair’s breadth.
And now the clouds.
And then the rain.
And later, the relative calm on the street that comes after everyone is ensconced where they feel the most empowered.
**************
She comes to my table, her smile practiced yet genuine, her hands soft and clean, and asks me if I want anything else.
I scan myself, and find no reason to hurry home to a room devoid of life and filled with memories.
I’ve done my part, taken my share, there is no malice in me toward anyone, and I’m not discontent.
“I’ll have another slice of this pie, and another cup of coffee please.”
“Coming right up, sir.”
“Thank you, um….?”
“Laura.”
“Thank you, Laura.”
My Write Mind 