(no subject)
it was like a movie...
poor chucha's guy. he ran after me when i had left cafe cultural. he was too late. i didn't realize it until i was in my car and had looked up to see that he was distanced from the side door closest to the front counter. his body language spoke so eloquently for him. his arm extended and the other loosely almost to his side as effect from the movements of the efforts in catching me. i had shut the door, he looked down and walked away in defeat.
did i leave anything? no, i checked. i had only my keys and wallet. and now a hazlenut blend with surprise shots of espresso. i saw him as everyone else. life has been playing itself out as a movie, unfolding new situations to rest. you're sound. so sound. what the fuck am i saying?
i thank him though. it was past closing time, the machines were cleaned up, the ingredients put away-- yet he still served me.
i wish that place was open later hours. life at home would seem so much more convenient. but i'll only be here a few years more and then i'll finally be able to break away from this place that has tied me down for so long. i long to break away to the crashing of the waves with the sun warming my skin, to be enwrapped in a body in which its hands do not strangle, but clench at me as if i were its only breath to survive.
in response, panera guy smiles. his warm greeting is just enough to push this struggling heart to skip that beat. what sweet words could leave lips that asked "what would you like" that finally transform into "anything you want." the tone of panera's voice sends shivers down the spine and excites my every nerve to where i catch myself-- "what are you doing?" i know what i'm doing. he's what i'm breaking away into.
their blends are so delicious. that 'homely' taste that will always be good no matter what because it is from where you originate.
but, it almost comes close to panera. just almost. tough luck, cafe cultural.
so here's my evening, and my future to come:
a home has found my heart.
poor chucha's guy. he ran after me when i had left cafe cultural. he was too late. i didn't realize it until i was in my car and had looked up to see that he was distanced from the side door closest to the front counter. his body language spoke so eloquently for him. his arm extended and the other loosely almost to his side as effect from the movements of the efforts in catching me. i had shut the door, he looked down and walked away in defeat.
did i leave anything? no, i checked. i had only my keys and wallet. and now a hazlenut blend with surprise shots of espresso. i saw him as everyone else. life has been playing itself out as a movie, unfolding new situations to rest. you're sound. so sound. what the fuck am i saying?
i thank him though. it was past closing time, the machines were cleaned up, the ingredients put away-- yet he still served me.
i wish that place was open later hours. life at home would seem so much more convenient. but i'll only be here a few years more and then i'll finally be able to break away from this place that has tied me down for so long. i long to break away to the crashing of the waves with the sun warming my skin, to be enwrapped in a body in which its hands do not strangle, but clench at me as if i were its only breath to survive.
in response, panera guy smiles. his warm greeting is just enough to push this struggling heart to skip that beat. what sweet words could leave lips that asked "what would you like" that finally transform into "anything you want." the tone of panera's voice sends shivers down the spine and excites my every nerve to where i catch myself-- "what are you doing?" i know what i'm doing. he's what i'm breaking away into.
their blends are so delicious. that 'homely' taste that will always be good no matter what because it is from where you originate.
but, it almost comes close to panera. just almost. tough luck, cafe cultural.
so here's my evening, and my future to come:
a home has found my heart.