Sitting in the corner of the coffee shop,

Laptop open, pages spread along the entire table.

Empty cups lined up like soldiers as you

Sip from the latest cup of bitter no sugar or cream black coffee.

How long have you been there?

Dumping the raging thoughts onto a page,

Into a document to be saved and possibly savored over

Later, later when your nerves have calmed.

People come and go, barely noticing

But I watch your hands, as they dance across the table,

Across the keyboard, in a rhythm that can only be described as

An undulating wave, making something out of nothing.

Headphones in, blocking out the world,

You don’t see me watching, wondering

Wondering if I’ll ever get to read those poignant words

You spill onto the paper, your soul aching to be heard.

Who knows if you just write for yourself, or to assuage

A long lost love, or a more recent heartbreak.

Or just expressing joy at the laughter of a child,

Maybe even just wondering at the absurdity of life.

In an instant, the laptop closes, the papers shuffled into a valise,

You pop up like a jack in the box, quickly looking about.

But as you leave, your body undulates in the same rhythm

Your hands had as you wrote as if your life depended on it.

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