Laugh

I see you step into the coffee shop, and I marvel at your presence.

There’s just something about you, the sparkle in your eyes, the smile on your lips. Your bright red earphones give a hint of color that contrasts against your dark hair, much like how your laugh echoes in the dreary seriousness of this rainy afternoon.

I see you look for a seat in this full café and secretly hope you see the empty spots at my table. You light up when you do, and you have a spring in your step as you make your way towards me.

You ask in a singsong voice if the seat is taken, and I shake my head. You smile and leave your bag alone with me, a stranger you don’t know yet.

You order green tea and a cookie from the bar. I see you make your way to the hand-off plate, and you cover your mouth in an attempt to hide your chuckle. I wish I could help you; I’d press my mouth on yours to prevent your blithe laughter from tumbling out.

You take your tray and make your way towards our table. You look at me without looking at me, your attention in disembodied voices. I clear it out, making space for you.

You smile and thank me as you slide the tray on your side of the table. I nod and duck behind my computer screen, a barrier of numbers and letters keeping you safe from my conversation, safe from me.

You drink your tea and nibble on your cookie, oftentimes pausing to whisper inaudible words and giggle. I want to ask you what you’re listening to, why you’re in this coffee shop, how I can be a part of your life.

But I sit here, absorbed, hoping you’d take notice of the one across your table, the one who would tell you anything you want to hear, the one who would do anything for that little laugh that takes their breath away.

–

Image source: deviantart.com/ninjason57/art/Sketch-4-5-16-601244236
First written June 22, 2017.
In The Coffee Shop, #4
#26