I look back at months ago
And it's this awkward hypnosis
Set in motion from spatially sitting
In the same place as before
(Some attempts at reclamation are futile)
I get sucked inward
To that alternative universe
Of what might have been
And the prospect of what happened
And how it happened
And what it would have taken.
An intangible dizziness
A cross of unrealistic yearning
And realistic thankfulness
That it never really was supposed to work out.
It's like a real-life time/space portal
The rain falls
Outside the Cafe
While I plod away with pen and paper
Pumping in music through my earphones
That everything was at stake.
Hopped on caffeine
Muscles ache from the constant exertion
This isn't my favorite cafe
But it is it's most genuine self
And for that I glance past
The shitty drinks
And the lack of outlets to keep my devices full of juice
Normal people come here
Make phone calls here
Do homework here
And to them
I am writing some kind of notes for class
Or writing a grocery list
And what a list it is!
My soul gets borne
In these cafes on Third Avenue
My own soap opera
-if only it were that truly interesting!-
Playing out in my mind
And today it's a clip show
Montages of the mayhem
I feel I'm at the end of the pilot season
And our protagonist has made
And many, many more to come.
Thank God for friends that give me things
because I learned the inefficiency
Of residing in the portal
And I instead snap myself out of it
Feel the rosiness of my cheeks
The softness of my fleece
The sizzle of over-steeped tea
From a different barista than before.
Maybe we aren't meant to reclaim all the locations
Maybe they were never ours to begin with.