Love, Poetry, & Coffee

~ 5 ~

I'm just going to review the plan one more time. It's a bookstore. I just have to visit and look around, and definitely no need to impulsively buy every book that I find interesting to read. That happens to every book lover ever. I remember when I was just a teenager that after school I spotted this bookstore on my way home and of course as a little book lover, I impulsively bought every book that seems interesting to me and try to carry all of them in my small backpack. Needless to say, that backpack gave up on its life and just broke down once I arrived right in the front door of my house.

This time, I'm a "responsible" adult and have a lot of self-control in my system. So, there's no way for me to accidentally buy 100 books in one visit. I love my books just like I love my coffees. Delicately holding them like they're my soul points. Besides, even if I accidentally bought like a thousand of books, I wouldn't have any space to store each book in my paper-filled apartment. I'm just glad I don't have claustrophobia because that would be a catastrophe. I'm already dealing with the demons of my past, I wouldn't want to deal to an irrational fear of confined spaces.

Snatching my phone in my pocket, checking the time on my screen and silently let out a sigh, I really hope I'm going the right way. In my defense, I just stumbled upon the bookstore once while my brain was on an autopilot to hunt down my daily coffee. I mean, I could ask for direction, but the thought of me awkwardly asking strangers about direction just sends a faint shiver down my spine. Letting out a harsh chuckle to myself, I would rather jump in front of a moving car than asking strangers for directions. It's a bit extreme, but it is what it is, Declan.

Finally, after like an hour of me walking around this small town, I'm finally right in front of the bookstore. The reason it's hard to spot is that the sign and the exterior design looks so minimal that it seems to blend in with the houses around here. I'm not complaining about the design, as a minimalist myself it's quite exquisite looking from where I am standing. I just realized that a bookstore is much like a coffee shop. It's a soft vast establishment, yet one can stay all day and feel great even if one buys nothing out of it. That's the only difference between the two. A bookstore is a place of welcome for everyone, rather than for "customers" who sometimes have a caffeine addict. This is not a hard-working establishment yet a love space, and that makes it a precious gem in this town, well, for me, at least.

I wonder what kind of person that runs this establishment, and also what kind of books I'll see when I enter. There's a lot of possibilities that I can think of, and the urge of me just bursting in slowly crawls in to my soul. I can hardly wait to find out the answers to all my questions. Crossing the somehow busy streets-glancing on both right and left of course-I found myself scratching my hand in anticipation. The glass entrance is quite opaque that it's hard to see through it. This is my first time seeing a bookstore with opaque entrance, perhaps to value the readers' privacy inside this building filled with imagination. Who knows? I just want to enter.

But as I pull the glass door and saunter my whole body in, the person behind the glass door accidentally bump me on my side. I let out a quiet groan and try my best to suppress the pain.

I felt a soft hand on my shoulder and a sweet voice entered my delicate ears, "I'm so sorry." That voice sounds so familiar.

Glancing my whole gaze up to the person, I've found myself glancing into an enchanting light-brown eyes. Before I could even speak up, I notice the person who bumped me is a beautiful woman. "It's alright."

She just smiles sweetly at me and I just felt like my soul slowly fly high into the heavens above. If heaven is a picture in light, then let it be told in the hues of her brown eyes; from a sweet caramel to a delicious cocoa, they are the place my soul finds nirvana. Her light-brown eyes is the kind that reminds a person of trees in the brightest autumn sun. Autumn might be my favorite season because of this encounter. She gives me one last pat on the shoulder before turning on her heels and slowly walks away from me.