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hopeless romantics and soft lights abound in dimmed cafes.
the smell of cinnamon flourishing around the wide room. the chairs are made of walnut. welcome in.
she's sitting in the one seat against the wall, where the light dares not gleam in her eyes. there are wisps of steam rising from her perfect cup of rooibus africana.
the reflection of a single lamp illuminates her distant features from a hidden angle. throughout the cafe, blazingly torrent billie holiday jazz is cooing in everyone's ears.
brilliant scholars and mathematicians could not have predicted her presence there, then, and now at this moment.
she glances at you then away; you can see the loveliest tears falling down her apple cheeks.
all you have to do is go over to her and ask to sit down. so get your hands out of your trouser pockets, and move those feet of stone anchors.
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