coffee shop illusions

a coffee shop; where people hide in plain sight. there is so much noise that if any music were to be playing in the background, it would softly blend into the rhythms of the hour. each person listening to their own melodies, wrapped up in their individual worlds. writing. working. reading. thinking. i can smell the coffee; strong like earth and life. oh the way her hair falls over her shoulder when she leans in closer to her book. the way his steps bounce when he clears the tables. the way that group of friends tries to catch their breathe, no longer aware of who made what joke first. the way his brow is furrowed - I wonder if he's worried or mad. and I wonder why. the way she has her legs wrapped up underneath her; she looks so comfortable, which makes me wonder if she likes being in her own skin. the way those men are huddled around the table, seemingly in sync with whatever they are talking about. her blue highlights. her tattoos. his style. her red lipstick stained coffee cup; but I see that mascara running under her eyes. it's all the illusion of hustle and bustle. one human blending into the other, yet all too unique to ignore. it gleams of energetic joy but most of us just need to take a deep breathe. the volume of the atmosphere makes you feel like you can hide. safe enough to not be seen, but close enough to humanity to be reminded you're not alone. to know the company of others, while still keeping everyone at a safe distance. a coffee shop; where endless people can feel safe being themselves. each individual a drop of paint on the canvas - not the focal piece - but collectively needed to make art in this world.

and that includes you.

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