Looking into his eyes We shake hands. A promise so delicate It's my heart he demands. He was quite the taker.

Months pass, time flies I walk in, her body under his commands My heart has been suffocate He shot to kill, and it lands He was quite the deal breaker.

Yet I stay through all the lies The love we built somehow stands One night he does something I could not replicate He saw a bug and hid in his hands That was quite the deal breaker.

Stepping into the coffee shop, I finally escape the biting chill of the winter morning. There's always something comforting about this place—the hum of drinks being made, people chatting and laughing, the rhythmic clicks of keyboards. Maybe it's the aroma of freshly brewed coffee or the warm browns with splashes of green throughout the store. It's likely a blend of everything that makes me relax each time I visit.

With a few minutes to spare, I order my drink and sit at a table in the corner. I remove the lid and wait a moment before sipping the hot coffee.

As I drink, I watch people come in, order, and leave. Observing them is my favorite pastime, as I create backstories for each person, feeling a connection to them.

A woman in her 40s sits with an elderly woman, likely her mother. They share a laugh, probably reminiscing about childhood memories.

At the counter, a father orders his black coffee while his son persistently begs for a cinnamon roll. The father relents, and the child leaves with a face smeared in icing.

Across the shop, a couple sits. The man's back faces me, while the woman sits upright, her leg bouncing steadily. His hands move sharply and demandingly. Their conversation seems far from pleasant.

When he makes a wide, rapid hand gesture, the woman flinches, her eyes widening as she responds quickly, on the verge of tears.

Something feels off. An awareness of the couple creeps up my spine. Should I intervene? What would I even say? Approaching the woman discreetly might be best, but I don't know this couple. It could be nothing, and I don't want to cause a scene.

My heart races, my palms grow clammy. I remain frozen.

No, I shouldn't intervene. But what if she needs help?

The couple rises. The man grabs her arm and tugs her out the door just as my friend walks in.

She spots me, orders her drink, and approaches. As she smiles, I push down the unease in my gut, feeling more comfortable in her presence. I've missed her, and this coffee date is something we both need.

"Hey," I say as she sits down.

"God, it's been so long. I've missed you. How have you been?"

"Good. Really good, actually. I just started my new job, and it's wonderful. I really like it," I beam.

"I heard." She takes a long sip of her coffee. "What is it you do again?"

"I compose musicals. Right now, I'm preparing my musical for the local theater. They say it might make it to Broadway one day."

"I just can't believe you gave up on being a data analyst. I don't know why anyone would go from that to, well, whatever it is you're doing," she says.

Maybe because it's my life and not yours. Who do you think you are? How about being supportive instead of whatever that response was?

"Oh, yeah, I guess it just felt right." I drain the rest of my coffee, contemplating whether to get another cup or walk out. Instead, I say, "So, how's Randy?"

"Oh, he is amazing. We are amazing. He is so kind to me and the perfect husband. I really do wish you would find someone like my Randy. You almost did with Marc. If only you hadn't let him get away."

We continue exchanging updates and stories. Despite the initial awkwardness, the conversation flows smoothly, as if no time has passed since we last saw each other.

When her coffee goes cold and one of us signals it's time to go, we stand and head to the door.

"It was great seeing you," she says, hugging me tightly.

"Yeah, you too," I reply, and I mean it.

As we part ways and I walk home, I feel deflated and hollow, as though someone else is using my body. I push the feeling down, deep with everything else I've avoided, saving it for another day.