Chapter III

Dear Weaver,

You. It was you. I walked into the Bistro today as I glared into the glass door, opening it to find you there again. The awkward melodies rang in my ears as I lowered my eyes and looked to the wooden-tiled floor. I felt my stomach crumble and turn as my head begin to burn up. I did not know what to say. What to do. Indeed, your charm swam only miles away to the chair I chose to sit on. Knowing Luke was only a few minutes down the street, I found a piece of my mind and played it cool. 

I sat with my friends whom surrounded me all laughing and smiling, yet as usual, I sat in distress. Pete, my friend whom I consider my brother for nearly six years was there and he knew about you. Pete currently works as a militant at a refugee camp, saving lives everyday which makes me proud. My sister, Rachel was asking me if I had any idea what I was doing, or how crazy I was. Although, her job title was a therapist, it did not mean she did not know what she was teaching an ordinary, lost woman, like me. Everyday she would come in with stories of patients that are unimaginable. I knew I was crazy, but I was right- I know deep down, I was right. Walking up to the lured, wooden and green counter, I held my breath in intense nervousness. My hands started to shake and I noticed the perspiration sweat on your forehead. If only I knew your name, I would make situations a lot calmer than the heat we were standing in.

The weather was humid, winter and spring had passed by so hastily. My order was taken and I did not say anything much more than the usual. Just a greeting and a kind thank you after ordering my coffee with soy milk. Inside I was screaming, 'where were you? And why do I need to know your name?' Handing me the coffee mug, your hands briskly wiped against my fingertips and I looked into your brown eyes in nothing flat. Staring back down at the mug, I pulled away and moved my hand nearly spilling the coffee.

Sitting back down in one of the comfortable beige and brown couches, I saw you struggle behind the counter when I looked back up. I had never been this nervous, Weaver, and I do not know what to do anymore. It has gotten to the point where I should stop going to the Bistro to avoid all awkward situations, and to save myself from another drop-fall. Yet, I have my friends surrounding me, which I am blessed for, keeping me here and not running away- as I have always done. 

Andy and Mario walked into the Bistro and joined us. They were both also my good friends for about six years. Andy was a composer and Mario worked in an office. The two have been good pals for a numerous amount of years. We all have been a family and the Bistro was like our second home. The guy working behind the counter, which is what I referred to you at the moment, besides the Weaver, left from the counter. Hoping you would not leave, you strode outside. Boldly and roughly, you stood outside and lit up your cigarette, which made me even more nervous inside. 

As always, you sat on the cement steps as I caught your glare at me. I could sense the passion behind the dinginess within you and my wearisome tongue could never tell you. I would not dare to do so. Flicking your cigarette on the ground, I took a deep breath. I could no longer take the pressure. Standing up and no longer waiting in vain I grabbed my phone and walked outside. 

The woman that you were with the other night walked down the stairs and she sat beside you. The lady was tall, dark and thick, I wondered why such a good looking man like you would be with someone like her. But that is just selfish of me. Embarrassed, I saved my actions and walked swiftly into the bathroom. I closed the door and locked it. Looking into the mirror I saw nothing but my own reflection with the scratches and speckles of dust on the mirror. The mirror which was bound to be broken if I lost you again. The hesitation and tension bundled inside of me as my thoughts begin to wire around the bathroom. Exhaling all the sympathetic emotions, I unlocked the door. I opened it and you were in front of me. 

I stopped and stared again, and so did you, until she showed up again wanting to use the bathroom. Why did you wait? Weaving and fixing any mistakes in these letters I am writing to you now, you might have saved something in me. Yet, if I knew your name, my writings would be different. Sometimes I want to get closer to you, but each time I take a step closer, I could not longer see what is going on.

Sincerely,

Her.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The chapter was very good. I like the description of her friends. Giving her life reason and purpose. I like her fear and internal thoughts. I like how you gave some history for some of her friends. Giving light to her world and the condition. Thank you for sharing the outstanding chapter.
Coyote