In coffee shops and libraries I stay waiting. For someone, anyone, to come and see right through me. The walls I hold up are not massive nor indestructible, but they are intricate. A maze. It is that intricacy that pushes people away, at the same time it is that which makes them gravitate. I look up with the sound of footsteps as people rush past. A glance of the eyes, how much do they really see? Can they see my hands gripping on the edges of the book I try to read, can they see the goosebumps on my arms as my mind wanders endlessly? I look back on my half drunken coffee and book, where was I again? This cycle of re-reading the last sentence goes on for minutes. I put the book down, grip my coffee with two hands and take a sip. The sun is shining peacefully today, the bustle of the city never stops. People pass by rushing to get nowhere fast. There is no point wasting time by waiting for them, but time we waste nonetheless. Love we waste nonetheless. Doubt ourselves more so or less. The honk of a taxi brings me back. The wind rustiling through the pages I have lost the page I was on. I break a smile and laugh to myself. "Would you like a coffee?," the waitress asks. "Oh I'm fine, I doubt I'll be here much longer." I replied, with no further destination in mind.
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