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Letters- Part 2 of 10

Dearest Reader,

I saw something today.

I was sitting in a little coffee shop, with little metallic tables and spindly little chairs. I was reading 'The Collected Poems' by Robert Frost, as you do on any given Sunday.

Then I saw her.

I'm not sure what came over me but I froze in my seat, it was like I couldn't force my eyes away from what was directly in front of me.

A girl, no older than you or I, drinking coffee, but in a way I had never seen before.

She held the cup close to her nose, the steam drifting in spirals towards her brain, shifting something inside her.

She physically shivered in pleasure, her tiny fingers wrapping as tightly as they could around the Styrofoam cup that is supposed to be used for take away only.

The steam cooled against her face, causing tiny droplets of condensation to form on the tip of her nose and above her lip.

She licked her lips hastily, her eyes squeezing shut, somehow savouring the taste of the air, as if the smell alone was purely enough for her.

Then she lifted it to her parted lips and drank, her head tilting back slightly, her eyes still closed in euphoric delight.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before.

It was like this simple coffee she held in her tight grip meant so much to her, like this moment she was sharing unexpectedly with my wandering eyes was so incredible to her.

It got me thinking, what am I if not just another soul wandering around looking for purpose?

I'm so incredibly lost.

But today I felt almost found.

In the creamy froth on the tip of my tongue I could taste things I have never tasted before, looking down into the dark depths of my cup I saw nothing but the colour of your eyes, again, unfaltering in my vision.

While I watched this girl savour every moment life chose to throw at her on this quiet and blissful Sunday I realised, if I don't tell you everything, I will gain nothing.

I need you to know, I lied.

I did not just guess who you were, or imagine your eyes and decide I needed to profess my mundane and intimate love for you.

I know exactly who you are.

I just don't know your name.

Because this lovely woman, at this plain coffee shop today was not just any woman, you know that as well as I.

This woman was you.

Your eyes were no longer reflected in my coffee but instead staring directly at me as I traced pointless patterns on the napkin beneath my cup.

I had no words, no words to describe what was happening in my mind.

See, I know, you visit this quaint little coffee shop every Sunday, as you have for the last ten years.

And every Sunday I have watched you drink from your little coffee cup like it’s the greatest thing that has ever passed your lips.

You are so in love with everything.

I see the way you admire things that most ordinary people take for granted, like the man who has always made your coffee, or the way someone always seems to put fresh flowers out on the windowsill of their home.

I see the way you watch people, much as I do, with a quirky smile and two big brown eyes.

You have seen so much, but you refuse to share your insight, never with a mere mortal like me.

I say this because you are not human.

No human could look at spilt coffee and see only hope and unfinished dreams, no mere human could look into a homeless man's face and see not the life he left behind but the one he can still move towards, step by step.

You are the only person I have ever seen to pause by the fountain every day to throw a single silver coin into its depths and wish for something.

I bet even your wishes are something no mortal man would consider.

You are something out of a movie, something I have spent years watching and could spend many more doing so.

You love so openly and so deeply, and I can only desire that one day you love openly and deeply for me.

Because, I too sit, every Sunday at that quaint little coffee store, I too notice the flowers of so many colours, fresh every day and waiting to be admired.

I too throw a coin into that bottomless pit of a fountain, except I know that what I wish for is a wish only made by an average mortal man.

I wish that one day, at some point, you will stop wishing for something else and instead turn around to see me, halfway through placing fresh flowers on my windowsill, purely for you to admire.

I only wish that you will see me, and realise that for all these years I have seen you and never once have I wished for more.

So, sweet woman, let me admire, let me see more than material and delight from open eyes as you sip at coffee we both know is not worth its price.

Let me see something deeper than your voice, as it tries hopelessly to trickle to my eardrums, thankful and honest.

Let me take you up to the highest roof in this god forsaken city and let me hear you, not your voice, no, not something so mortal and plain.

Let me hear your heartbeat as it thuds inside your chest, let me find rhythm and solace in your breaths, let me absorb your smile and all it holds and let me more than anything…

Let me experience your mind and all it withholds.

I am so willing to climb over your walls, to become something more than just a stranger you once waved at to say hello.

Because even in my tragic and fragile mental state I can see your heart beat still beats in rhythm with mine.

Because I know you have seen me, every Sunday without fail, waiting for me to say something so it seems more than just fate.

Your Secret Admirer

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