Thoughts from a Hipster Coffee Shop- Ukrainian Village- Early October

A woman in a Colts t-shirt is telling her study group that she wants to move back to Indiana, but her boyfriend is here. The rest of her team takes a break from going over business ethics to talk to her about it. It’s such a bastard thing to follow your heart sometimes.

I ask myself that if mine were attached to a person, would I feel any differently? Instead of a person, or a place, or a thing, my heart is attached to a feeling-the feeling of taking a deep breath and seeing the ocean. I long to enjoy the feeling of my heart being limitless, like one day I will fall in love with the antitheses of who I am.

The woman and her group went back to the books and I am back to the keys. I have a light acoustic playlist in my ears. I am unhappy with the flavor of my coffee. My blueberry scone hardly lasted long enough for me to taste it.

When I was a kid, I used to fight the feeling of loving and hating being invisible to my parents. I would fidget and act out during inappropriate times. Sometimes I would fail my math tests just so my dad would sit with me at the kitchen table for hours to go over problem by problem, line by line. I told myself I was bad with numbers, and then I was. What I’m getting at is sometimes I feel so thirsty to be seen, I’d rather be seen shamefully, or doing nothing, than not be seen at all.

I think I go to coffee shops to write, not just to remove myself from the comfort of my home, but to have the opportunity to be seen and to engage if I chose to. I’m trying to shake up the familiar in order to be stimulated just a little bit.

My friend Ian is encouraging me to write that novel, even though I’d rather stick to poems. I told him I prefer I like the way they sound out loud.  He says to me,

“Well maybe you could finally write that novel if you learned to like the way YOU sound out loud first. Least for a long enough time where you won’t get sick of hearing your own voice inside your head.”


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