Chapter II

Dear Weaver,

It has been a while since I last wrote you, but not much longer than I have been to the Bistro. The date is April 16th, 2013 and I am staring upon these papers before me; Those papers that I promised to publish and launch at the Briony Bistro. Now I do not know how much longer I have to wait, but I cannot take anymore rejections for this novel I have been writing. So they say publishing is not easy, but writing is not any easier. Maybe it was not meant to be launched at the Bistro, nor is it meant to be published anywhere at all. Yet, I find it a bittersweet challenge, just like my coffee, which has been tasting very dull and bitter lately. 

Unemployed and trying my best to get myself together, as always, I have found no reason to sell my writings, it seems so wrong. I would much rather let the world read my messages, knowing that I wrote it myself. I remember when I used to go to the Bistro on a daily basis, I would have my annoying but lovable friends there to bother me or help me whenever it was needed, to complete the night of editing and proofreading. However, I eventually isolated myself apart from my friends and society to work at home, all alone.

I might have lost the passion that I once had every time I used to enter the Bistro, or maybe it was just a simple crush- especially because I have never fallen for a single human being before. I've always kept my doors closed, but this time I may have left it cracked open. I have been swept off my feet since I met Luke, and I am honored to share this with you. Luke is a man who lives down the corner of the Bistro. I used to walk by everyday to pick up the mail for my good friend and find him standing in the neighborhood. Something made me jittery and fly up high whenever I would see him, and the feelings still remain until today.

Weaver, I was afraid that this would happen if I wrote down what was left of me on a piece of paper. But, it is my greatest escape and my last resort to giving up what I have to. Today Luke read the order I had taken. The paper had fallen out of my bag and onto the vivid streets of his neighborhood. For the first time in my life, I had felt guilt for my writings, but somehow I was sure of it happening. I want you to know the true side of me, and so should Luke; therefore, I am writing this hoping he would understand that I simply would never do anything to hurt him in anyway. 

The rain fell hard today, and I knew that running to the Bistro was not going to make things any better. I had nowhere to go but to Luke's neighborhood again. However, the sympathy still does not appease me, and I still have trouble finding safety, trust, and sanity winding around me. The only thing that turns around my head in endless circles at night is the spinning hazel brown eyes of the painting hanging on my ceiling. 

My senses have never been wrong, nor have my intuitions. I may have a sixth sense, whether I am sober or not, and I have read into Luke's soul. I have never felt comfort until I met him, and for once I do not regret a single key entering the gates that have been locked for seven years. Seven years ago my trust and strength were abducted alongside my privacy. Only you would know that, from the amount of times I had opened my notebook and wrote before your eyes.

Nowadays, I leave the Bistro empty but happy, and I enter without expectations or remorse. The Bistro is changing and so are my emotions, but nothing feels better than pure, ridicule freedom. One promise I still shall keep is that wherever I may roam with my coffee, I will always remember the one coffee that opened my mind into these clutters of writings. And I have you to thank for that Weaver, for I would have never started writing again after my pitfall.

All Apologies, 

The Girl on the Chair

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the chapter. I like the personal thoughts on life and writing. I agree. Writing is hard work. Hard to release our words to strangers. I like the goal of the book and the memories. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote