Earlier in the day I was waiting in line for coffee in this same shop. I often wonder if I’m really here for the coffee or just to watch the people as they come and go. Each tells a story in the way the hold themselves, what they say (or don’t say), what they order. Today was no exception, as the room was filled with the various characters that make up the city.
As I approached the counter I continued my usual sweeping of the crowd: the businessman answering e-mails on his phone; the middle aged woman whose hair was a color that did not exist in nature; three tween-agers who never stopped giggling.
And you. Scarlet ribbon in your hair, at an outside table, flipping through a newspaper. I could feel the corners of my mouth starting to bend as a smile formed on my face. It was a sad smile, but still a smile.
You were good for me. We had fun together. I truly loved you. But you didn’t love me, and we parted.
I turned to look at you again, just in time to see my replacement join you at the table for two. You looked at him like I looked at you, and I knew he was good for you, that you had fun together, and that you truly loved him.
And then you were gone. And all that was left was an empty table with a used newspaper. Second hand news, easily replaced tomorrow by another edition.
The lights of the city began to pierce the twilight. It was time for me to leave.
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