Magical Cafe

The italics show a different perspective

I watch as you open the door of the cafe. I'm at my usual table, with a view of the entire room. Even in this earthy haven I feel uncomfortable if my back is not against a wall. Your entrance is a burst of energy in this otherwise sleepy cafe. The smell of freshly ground coffee permeates the air like the smell of wet earth after the first rain. I can feel the cold metal of the chair on my back warming to my body slower than the smooth wood of the seat. You shrug your shoulders and turn your head, smiling.

I can almost see the blanket of comfort that you have wrapped yourself in. I know you see me watching as you stand in line to order. You make eye contact, acknowledge me. I feel my cheeks warm and I look down to study the smooth wood of the table stained with new moons of coffee left behind over the years. The energy is still there though. I can feel it tracing its way up my arms. Your voice doesn't carry to my corner as you order. Your poise is unmistakable though, confidence. you are completely at ease in this place, you've obviously been here often. She hands you your drink and your fingers touch momentarily. She blushes and looks flustered. You smile and don't say anything. 

That smile. Oh, that smile. It says so much about you. You're devious, adventurous, willing to bend and grow. I watch, entranced as you approach my table. The warm afternoon light hits dust motes as they drift through the air. You push slowly through them as they gently caress your face and hum lullabies in your ear. Sitting at my table is a dance for you. Hook your ankle around the leg of the chair, settle into the seat looking completely relaxed. I can see your neck strain as you struggle to project your voice across the private chasm of our table. Your words are meant for no one but me, and mine for no one but you. Conversation flows back and forth, but you're directing it.

Your presence remains constant as I swing in and out. Occasionally you give me a gentle nudge to keep me going. Chains creak after having been unused for so long and slowly I get back into the swing of the conversation. Eventually, you say you have to go. The sun is no longer illuminating the room, and the soft glow has grown darker. As you leave I hear the rush of traffic, the sound is cut off as the door closes. I close my eyes and follow you out into the real world...

I sat down shortly before I saw her order. She stood there, alternately shifting her hips as if to a mostly lost memory of a dance danced well, many years ago, and lifting her feet as if to relieve pressure from a long night left standing alone. For me she was the upturned shadow under a sunny summer day, where high-beams got lost in sun-rays and time stood still as her hot breath boiled the air shut around her. Yeah, her stance locked in the looks of all those around her, including herself, as she bent gracefully to a seat across from a wall; a mirror left hanging. And when she finally stood up to walk away; and even when that mirror asked her, pleaded deep and begged her to stay, well no one but herself could hear her mumble through the closing doors: "I didn't come here to stay." And so she walked out, leaving more than just a part of herself behind.