Things you end up thinking of in a coffee shop
1) She sat there, book in hand, while painfully hipster music played on the speakers throughout the coffee shop. Some songs she knew, some songs she’s never heard before, but there were these songs which she knew she had in her iPod, hidden somewhere in all its 64GB glory, songs she once knew the words to but now cannot remember, words she can now only hum, songs which she struggled to remember, once known to her like her closest friends but now whose singers she cannot even recall. She can only hum, she thought painfully, as she tried to remember the days when she knew every line, every word, back then when there weren’t too many of them, songs which she always thought were somehow written for her.
2) The songs could barely be heard above the constant buzz of conversation — he just left me, I hope I graduate by April, thank you ma’am, here’s your coffee. She wonders sometimes how people always seem to have something to talk about, why can’t they just all sit in silence with mugs in hand, she wants to hear the music, hear the words, who cares if they all can’t remember who the singers are. She knows these songs better than these people who sit in idle chatter, unconsciously revealing too much of who they are and how they live their lives, making them fair game for possibly cruel judgment, while she sits quiet and uncaring, only waiting for the chorus not of the lives around her but of a song so foreign and yet so familiar, before she decides to take her books, stuff her notebook and pen in her bag, and leave the soon-to-be forgotten sounds and strangers behind.
highreaching
