Coffee
Caramel and Cream
I saw him in the coffee shop. As I stared, a drop from my tipping cup landed on the most magnificent piece of literature I'd ever laid my eyes on- for the eighth time(Or was it the ninth?) The dark brown liquid seeped through the pages of wonder, soling the story teller but not the story. I forgave him for that.
He didn't smile, didn't scowl. He also didn't know what he'd done. But his contentedness was beautiful in a silent way. One that could never be described with words nor feelings nor anything else. Well, maybe something could understand enough to recompose it. But they'd need all the time in the world, and time spent marveling at him was fleeting. I should have taken a picture, but that seemed disgraceful a way to remember him.
As he got his drink, he sat in a chair facing the window. Neither laptop nor book occupied his lap, only the cardboard clad cup clasped in both hands. His eye, resembling the pool of caffeine and too much creamer in the flimsy container, looked out of the window in a easily consecrated way. Or maybe it was the sugar he overused.
He studied the world beyond this dirt colored building for millenniums. I studied the world within his enticingly taunting features for seconds, counted with the tap of his fingers on the cardboard clad cup. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Pause.
Suddenly, the worthless literature in front of me captured my attention. As if this simple ink on paper could compare to the wonder of the eyes looking at me. As if it came close.
The cardboard clad cup containing coffee with too much cream(or sugar) landed on the table with a soft click. A wooden box clanked on the checkered surface, disrupting the liquids. The extra chair scuffed out from the table, soon occupied by the man with the coffee resembling eyes. Well, maybe more like caramel.
"Will you play with me?" His voice was warm like smoldering embers. Comforting like hot chocolate, and just as irresistible. It eased my shoulders as his sight calmed my mind.
Sliding the thick boredom aside, I didn't deny his proposal. His pawns tapped in erratic intervals while my knights skid orderly. I think our movements reversed our personalities. Then again, I didn't know him beyond his sugar problems. Coffee brown eyes never left the table to tell me, fingers tapping away to the beat of the thoughts I didn't know. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Pause.
Caffeine met my eyes for the first time in centuries, in lifespans, warming me to almost scold. Caramel coated my thoughts, "Your turn."
There was nothing left to do. A stalemate halted me in place. I'd been found out, beat, burned. Those caffeine filled eyes had overpowered me by existing.
The wooden piece dragged heavily against the checkered-topped table. Chances were a foreign concept. Failure was well known. Checkmate.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Thank you." The coffee was gone. The wooden pieces went missing. The man disappeared with nothing more, leaving me to freeze in the perpetually warm coffee shop.
The grueling hunk of literature slid in front of my eyes, holding no interest evermore.
He didn't smile, didn't scowl. He also didn't know what he'd done. But his contentedness was beautiful in a silent way. One that could never be described with words nor feelings nor anything else. Well, maybe something could understand enough to recompose it. But they'd need all the time in the world, and time spent marveling at him was fleeting. I should have taken a picture, but that seemed disgraceful a way to remember him.
As he got his drink, he sat in a chair facing the window. Neither laptop nor book occupied his lap, only the cardboard clad cup clasped in both hands. His eye, resembling the pool of caffeine and too much creamer in the flimsy container, looked out of the window in a easily consecrated way. Or maybe it was the sugar he overused.
He studied the world beyond this dirt colored building for millenniums. I studied the world within his enticingly taunting features for seconds, counted with the tap of his fingers on the cardboard clad cup. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Pause.
Suddenly, the worthless literature in front of me captured my attention. As if this simple ink on paper could compare to the wonder of the eyes looking at me. As if it came close.
The cardboard clad cup containing coffee with too much cream(or sugar) landed on the table with a soft click. A wooden box clanked on the checkered surface, disrupting the liquids. The extra chair scuffed out from the table, soon occupied by the man with the coffee resembling eyes. Well, maybe more like caramel.
"Will you play with me?" His voice was warm like smoldering embers. Comforting like hot chocolate, and just as irresistible. It eased my shoulders as his sight calmed my mind.
Sliding the thick boredom aside, I didn't deny his proposal. His pawns tapped in erratic intervals while my knights skid orderly. I think our movements reversed our personalities. Then again, I didn't know him beyond his sugar problems. Coffee brown eyes never left the table to tell me, fingers tapping away to the beat of the thoughts I didn't know. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Pause.
Caffeine met my eyes for the first time in centuries, in lifespans, warming me to almost scold. Caramel coated my thoughts, "Your turn."
There was nothing left to do. A stalemate halted me in place. I'd been found out, beat, burned. Those caffeine filled eyes had overpowered me by existing.
The wooden piece dragged heavily against the checkered-topped table. Chances were a foreign concept. Failure was well known. Checkmate.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Thank you." The coffee was gone. The wooden pieces went missing. The man disappeared with nothing more, leaving me to freeze in the perpetually warm coffee shop.
The grueling hunk of literature slid in front of my eyes, holding no interest evermore.
♠ ♠ ♠
I don't know how to play chess.