In my mind is an elaborate city with twists and turns and winding streets with corner shops and benches. Often, I walk into some alley I do not know my way out of. I am lost for a bit. Then, I am found, but I must walk–sometimes, for days on end. On one such walk today on this ominous, cloudy and almost confusing evening, I am again at the coffee shop. I say hello to the barista and ask how he’s doing and if his fever is any better. He tells me not entirely, no, and then, he tells me how it is only up to him to manage the cafe and how short-staffed they are. I tell him I figured it since I always see him, and I understand the toll it may take on him. I do this with the most earnest tone I can use.
When the inky, almost pitch-black coffee arrives, I face it and sit in utter silence. No one has told me what I have wanted to hear, and even if they did, they did not do it earnestly. To hold the ship, to hold my ground, and to continue to exist. It tires me, but what else can I do? There is no answer. April began so long ago. I look around; it is still April.
The language of the city surrounds me: the honking, the sirens, the occasional vocal obscenity thrown into the air for all to hear, the roaring of the engines and the silence of the people too tired of being tired. I find a moment of solace in the meaningless sounds of the world. Somehow, I am reminded I am still here. Does noise exist if no one sits and listens to it, even reluctantly, or perhaps, like me, of their own accord? Does all the good in my life exist if I have no one to tell it to? I can exclaim with joy alone, but is it exclamation if no one hears it?
Questions, questions, I can sit here and ponder as much as I can. I push the cup of coffee forward and put my head down on the table. A minute passes, and I feel the cold wind on my face. It appears it will rain again.