Stirrings Pt II: Coffee Shop

I’ve spent at least three nights a week here for two months now; I should know the names of some of these people.  I should know she will distract me for, at the very least, a moment or two of my time here.  I should know that in my mind we have been slow dancing, tiptoeing around a topic, a possibility, a question, and an answer, waiting for a strong wind that might sway either of us towards vulnerability.  I should know that it probably isn’t healthy for me to come here anymore.  Indecision and possibility are like a cocktail with a bad aftertaste and I find myself hooked, desperately and hopelessly hooked...

The thing of it is she still asks if I want room for cream.  The words have a searching quality about them.  They ring hopefully from her lips, like white smoke and bells above locked doors, but I’m not listening.

She still asks, and I still say no thank you.  The words hang themselves from my lips, and I take my coffee black, filled with nostalgia.