the raw sound of morning voices
harmonizes with the clattering of silverware
as the scent of roasted coffee beans and crisp apple pie envelopes me
i suspect that when I leave these things will still cling to my skin
our table near the window is still the optimal place to observe–
even after all this time.
My heartbeat quickens when I hear the bells of the door ring.
My gaze instinctively goes up, expecting you to appear
hoping that maybe the string tethering us together simply caught on a branch along the way, and it’s okay now because it’s untangled.
But it’s never you.
There’s a boy racing past his mother, skipping toward the booth in the corner.
There’s an older couple remarking on the heavy rain while he takes his jacket from her shoulders.
You used to love the rain
maybe that’s changed– i wouldn’t know.
I ordered a coffee
I don’t like coffee– well, you know that
my dear old friend
it’s gotten cold