Coffee Strangers.

In the mild lit day of the afternoon, strangers pass me, some stay, but one will never leave.

Two businessmen sit, accentuating their talk with wild hands and wide mouths, that spill business jargon, gibberish in murmurs I can not understand.

A young girl and her mother quickly anticipate the truth of coming family events and their guaranteed stress to follow.

An elderly man sits open to the near breath of life and stories he wishes to tell an undying person, anyone who will listen.

Ahead of me an elderly woman, who sincerely believes that she is twenty years younger than she is, delusional to the aging process, oblivious or unaware to the cycle of life, sits unwilling observing the lives of the passing. Envious of the youthfulness glow encircling those who come into view of her weathered eyes. Wrinkles embedded deep in her skin, as they could be pulled tightly to show a young woman, full of hope with nothing but dreams to follow.

Her eyes catch mine through her designer glasses, fixed only for a moment, yet in the moment it seemed as if she spoke of wise words.

Her thoughts were loud, much louder than the passing cars that roamed the street only fifty yards away. I felt alone in a world so big, yet a connection to each stranger that passed. As if they all spoke to me, undying words of dreams, transformation, and sorrowfulness. All of them seeking more than they can see.

All wanting something they don’t have.

Just something.

Engulfed in frequencies, some stronger than others, unseen to the blinded eyes of those who do not understand nor yet are not willing to learn.

Progressing, evolving, growing, moving, transforming, no one want to accept life’s forthcoming tragedies, memories erased by time.

Time is the only thing we seem to have that constantly progresses, each minute we grow older, some wiser, but only some.



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