coffee shop confessional

2pm marks the gentle buzz of coffee shops and the hum of humanity untroubled in light conversation with friends and lovers. Light pattering of rain against the thick glass of the shop’s windows and doors as small and pleasant reminders to not let your thoughts drift too far. The hiss of the milk steamer fully brings me back to reality. I hear people around me laughing at dreary anecdotes, flirting through generic compliments and responding in awkward disbelief. The couple to my left, knees entwined are talking in a hushed tone about how much they love each other over the slowly rising steam of their coffees. Hair twirled in slender fingers and cheeks rise in rouge. I sigh contemptuously; an unconscious decision.  The iced Americano sat before my eyes condensates gently, similarly to the rain outside. The water rolls slowly down the plastic cup onto the deep mahogany countertop, creating a small pool that is sure to dampen my sleeve when I’m not paying attention. I push my glasses further up on the bridge of my nose to readjust my vision, allowing me to focus on the nature outside from the comfort of being inside. That is, assuming being inside the coffee shop is more comforting. I gaze down toward my blank notebook.

I’d rather be at home…