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It’s seven o’clock in the morning–a time I devoted to personal realization, as I swing with the jazz song playing on the radio placed above my window sill. Getting ready to go out. patiently waiting as the hands of the clock go round and round.

Thirty minutes had passed and now I was getting ready for a walk. I mean, a sit. My ass is getting numb already.

I love coffee, and it has never been debatable. I assured myself from time to time that coffee is like a potion of life for me to be able to walk and run, swiftly; steadily. And then it’s a ten-minute walk from home, a coffee shop I favored to stay for the second 60 minutes of my entire day. And I will sit outside the shop, rain or shine. You can’t beat breezy air!

I buy my favorite type of coffee, a shot of espresso in the morning is an undefeated rest for this soul. And then I will read a Lang Leav book, sipping my coffee while eating a slice of baguette.

A passing truck of ice is coming.

Here she comes again, and I have never been less fascinated with her beauty. She is something out of this world, though I’m just thinking that is she ever that precious, or it was just how did I ever perceive her? no one knew, and neither did I. But what I know about her is that she is remarkably existing rent-free in my mind. She’s bugling and shaking my emotions, controlled by her memories of day and night. And every day, I see her, existing, and even not, she is. that as she walks by, passing my corner on the other side of the street, I may somehow give myself thoughts of regretting things I have done before for her—to her. But I loved her, even now that I had escaped the cage I was in, knowing that I lived nonchalantly; how suffocating it is. I pass my boundaries just to be sincere. Believing that as a person who’s always in need of assurance, I must initiate it first.

But that’s not how things work—and more so to her.

And so I slowly started letting her out of my mind, even though she is yellow, and I was monochromatic. She is a dying palette of color, and I am a deteriorating vintage newspaper—nothing of a bore.

But she always passes by, and how unfortunate I always wish that mutually we could be together.

And so people crossed the pedestrian and she got lost in his sight. Being greeted by a girl with a book in his hands, keeping a notebook in his left armpit.

Is she ain’t lovely? If not, then I’ll tell you what. your visions are blurry, boy.

And sadly, I might also do so. Knowing her appreciation for every sketch I draw while sitting and sipping my coffee, giving a glimpse of joy in my unsavory life, she deserves more than enough. That I once even thought that if so happened that she would fall for me, with no doubt I would court her. But unfortunately, she ain’t that enough. Or maybe I was just thinking of it because even if she shows tons of things of affection I have never seen that extravagant in my entire life—how she’s timid, and I might love her for that, which I always will—I I am chained to a person who exists flat more than I am.

If I could detach myself from this motionless endearment to someone’s deafness of its feelings, I would throw myself for her. And that maybe my friend was right all along.

Maybe as these taxis are moving swiftly and so these trains move on and on and on constantly, why can’t I? In the end, I was just hurting myself from these prospects out of this vain and loneliness.

A taxi stops in front of the shop. Emptying his vehicle of a passenger from 11th Street.

How funny it could be to feel unloved and be uncharted while trying to be the best you can for these people you thought that you were just trying to be humane.

Honestly, my coffee’s just getting colder greeting this bunch of numb and uncaring people. I mean, I do understand the fact that it might just, might be that they’re too shy to express something. But I have senses too. I feel the feeling of making you out and keeping you from getting out.

I greet them every morning. even a smile, for Pete’s sake. Are they stroked? Are they a miraculous walking bunch of apathetic paralyzed people?

Who cares, by the way? They might only think that the only reason I greet them is that I just wanted to be relevant as they are. That I’m trying to be a “hero” or a “social and hypocrite sympathetic piece of irrelevant person?”

Ha! Bug off! I could choose for everything to be ragged. If that’s the logic, I always have the choice to keep myself out of these people. The fact that I am only getting more and more exhausted and drained and wearied and depleted by their too high energy that you’re just getting impassive the longer you seek for it.

Traffic is starting to get jammed as vehicles start to bustle their horns. The calm morning for coffee is done.

You can’t blame a kid not to like milk. You cannot blame a man for not liking black coffee. But tense will arise and the issue will be, a man fearing the breeze under the sun.

The coffee shop starts playing blues music. The traffic got loose.

My coffee is getting cold. Making me think; I might get lost?

Could it be forever? Could this be the last?

No one knows. And so do I. And nor the heavens could tell.

But only a single thing that’s constant yet absolute could narrate the future.

It is time.

Have a chat with it.