Though this may not sound peculiar to most people, but I think my mind had a type of sleep phobia that I fail to understand. It feels that no matter what happens after the 6 hour time limit, it needs me to wake up and stare at computer screens again. In any case there are benefits of waking up at random times because the mood in which I write keeps changing with that. For my third week or Day 21 of writing I was looking through some old suggestions that friends had passed on to me over a period of time, some wisdom in the little things they have written, told me about or suggested. Though I couldn't remember a whole lot, I did remember small acts of kindness that they have shown me from time to time. And in between the crazy weeks and the 6 hours that my mind lets me drift off, I decided to write to chaos in a coffee shop. The type we are all familiar with, the silhouettes of the people walking by when we read or wait for our coffee, the little glimpses of new people and sometimes the never ending line of coffee cups with names.
Chaos in a Coffee Shop
I waited there for a while, staring at the board,
The specials, the not so special, the Tall, the Grande the Venti of the day,
Choices was the last thing on my mind, something to get onboard,
The Starbucks card, the swipe at the counter top, the lines that kept coming all day
The named cups to top it all, the instructions by the side,
I followed on into hurried paths from the counter tops to the waiting line,
There was something among chaos that comforts me, the randomness of it all,
That reminds me of simpler things , among the laughter as I wait my coffee "tall"
The little groups that form and disperse, places where old friends meet and wait,
Where there is no reason to share a smile, and yet there are moments we all create
I read between the lines sometimes, I often wait for two strangers to share a drink,
Knowing well about the chances of a story coming true, about things that change with a blink.
Would the chaos in a coffee shop, follow me home,
Would it lead me to write stories, even if the strangers never met,
Never shared a coffee together, do we still get to keep the hope,
For me now, the chaos is comforting, the randomness I keep going back to, & that of loud words that remain unsaid
Chaos in a Coffee Shop
I waited there for a while, staring at the board,
The specials, the not so special, the Tall, the Grande the Venti of the day,
Choices was the last thing on my mind, something to get onboard,
The Starbucks card, the swipe at the counter top, the lines that kept coming all day
The named cups to top it all, the instructions by the side,
I followed on into hurried paths from the counter tops to the waiting line,
There was something among chaos that comforts me, the randomness of it all,
That reminds me of simpler things , among the laughter as I wait my coffee "tall"
The little groups that form and disperse, places where old friends meet and wait,
Where there is no reason to share a smile, and yet there are moments we all create
I read between the lines sometimes, I often wait for two strangers to share a drink,
Knowing well about the chances of a story coming true, about things that change with a blink.
Would the chaos in a coffee shop, follow me home,
Would it lead me to write stories, even if the strangers never met,
Never shared a coffee together, do we still get to keep the hope,
For me now, the chaos is comforting, the randomness I keep going back to, & that of loud words that remain unsaid
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