Chapter I

Dearest Weaver, 

It is lonesome and it is spring time. I have just left your presence for the night. Although, you may not notice me and I probably do not exist in your world, I still am writing you this letter. Maybe I will never see you again, nor will you see me. But, knowing that you could be anywhere reading this letter, I thought I might begin with more than my usual, "One Coffee, with soy milk", for my lactose intolerance, or "Hi", and "Thank you."  Sometimes we would have a few laughs if I would mix a few words, or your warm brown eyes would just lose me in between those sentences. You may not be reading this now, but one day you will. The one day I can finally end this wearisome false hope and push my fears aside, I may be able to speak to you more than a few words. Weaver, you carry something simply intriguing within, and I cannot recall spotting that kind of bliss anywhere else. 

Stopping by the Briony Bistro nearly every week for a cup of coffee, I would always walk in with hope that you would be there, waiting to take my usual order. Although we have still not spoke besides a few words, thank you's and hello's, I feel like you should know my life story. I live there most of the day rambling on about my stories, just hoping you would listen. In turn, I would listen to yours if I heard you speak. You seem shy, although I have not met you yet. Today, in my attempt as I sat alone, I was staring down hoping you would talk to me. But that seems nearly impossible, when all I have caught is your voice on the phone with another. 

A few weeks after your phone call, I walked in to find you with some other woman, gently sitting side by side, only leaving me in thoughts of awe yearning for another chance. When you sat on the steps outside, I felt you staring at me from where I sat. You may or may not have been noticing me but I could feel your presence near mine. Your hands were clasped together, and my eyes ran towards the floor. I only hoped to see you looking. However, I cannot find myself entering the Bistro for the time being. I mustn't get used to the fact of your presence, Weaver, for I shall leave in a few more weeks. I cannot bare the heartache, and neither can you.

Maybe I did notice your gazes at me, and so did my friends. But, I seem to find that it is only in my fantasies that you and I would ever be. Weaver, I must admit I am a bit hurt since you have left the Bistro, for I visit on the days I would usually find you working. However, you have not shown up since I stopped visiting. I regret it. I regret and remorse the fact that I walked out of the Bistro and swore myself to never stop by again. Since that day, the whole place had changed, and you no longer are there. I don't even know your real name and I have not even built enough courage to speak to you more than the usual few words I have spoken to you. If only I could see you again, then everything would be a little different.

I still like to visit the Briony Bistro with every hope that you would just maybe appear there, or show up again. However, all hope has been lost, so I only stick to the pure imagination of your presence there. It's hard to forget you, Weaver. I never felt much comfort in writing a letter to you on behalf of my feelings concealed beneath these somber thoughts and ethos. I wish I only could have spoke them to you. But, now I have moved on to an amazing man I have found. I do not think I would ever find like him, and it is a true fact; however, if I was ever to keep space for you in my heart, there will always be room for you there. A memory and a love to coffee had grown at the Bistro, and created solidly by the hands of you. 

The girl down the street

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the opening chapter. You create a good location and wrote of hope and dreams. I like the way you described the simple things like coffee and personal thoughts. Thank you for sharing the excellent opening chapter.
Coyote