Cigarettes And Sunrise

She is just sitting there, drinking her coffee. She does not notice much of anything that is going on around her. Right behind her sits a man, possibly the love of a lifetime, only two feet away, and she does not even know it. He looks up from his book from time to time, first looking around in order to appear not to be paying attention to her, taking a sip of coffee, staring at the blackness within (the mug, not his soul) and then finally, after appearances have been saved, looking her way in the end and back down at his book again. Chance, it calls to you daily. what a waste.

What am I doing with my self, what am I aiming towards, what do I want to do, is there really a point to all this, these things I do? Probably not, but it will all be okay; all I need to do is stop every now and again, stop and just pay attention.

Getting up from my seat, placing the mug I have been drinking from on the counter, a smile to the barrista, or whatever the hell they're called, I begin walking out the door.