I Don't Even Drink Coffee

Shh this is my one shot entry, probably a day late but I don't care.

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There's this amazing little cafe on the corner of 33rd street. It has this big mahogony door that creaks when you open it and inside the lights are always dim. A huge floor to cieling window seperates the cafe from the outside world. There are sofas of various colors and soft music can always be heard in the background. They serve coffee, tea, and home cooked meals. Sounds like a normal coffee shop, right? Well I haven't gotten to the best part yet.

On every wall there are paintings. Paintings, of the most random and mundane things. Random mixes and blends of color, which upon seeing them you're not sure if the artist knows a secret meaning behind it, or if they were just spur of the moment random emotions and paint smeared on the wall in the most beautiful way. Paintings of precious memories. On the tables and chairs, there are more paint doodles. But also words scribbled in sharpie. Words, some from a simple conversation. Others from a heart to heart. Walking into this coffee shop, feels like walking into a storybook with small pieces from the plot line. You're not sure how the pieces fit together, but you know that they must fit in an amazing way which will reveal the most beautiful spoken-to-the-heart sort of tale.

Welcome to the 5:48 cafe.

I found this safe haven while I was on a walk. It was a rainy day, and I had been having a bad week. I don't like going into the specifics of it, but anyways I was just walking in the light rain. I was crossing the street when a car sped across the intersection and just about hit me. Oh I was so freaked out, my heart was beating insanely fast. I stumbled across the street and leaned against the building next to me (which later I realized was a window), just trying to process what had just happened. I was THIS close to getting run over. The rain kept hitting my face right next to my eyes so I focused on moving on and walking along. I straightened and was about to keep walking, when this door opened right in my face. Another step closer and I would've been hit. Wide eyed I stared at this mahogony door. The people shuffling out were chatting and smiling and they walked away from where I stood. I took a step back and looked for a sign to what this place was. All it said was: 

5:48

So I went in and boom! I discovered this beautiful cafe.

The waiter was quiet but cute and kind. The cook was handsome, loud and funny. And a younger boy who made the cakes was simply adorable. As I sat in that cafe almost every day, I saw their story unfold before my eyes. A girl, a bit older than me, started showing up every day. Always ordering an Earl Grey tea with red velvet cake. Then one day I saw her working behind the counter, joking with the boys who ran the place. I guess she was offered a job. I remember secretly envying her because she got noticed and hired while I was still partially invisible. But I quickly got over it when I remember how sad she always looked. She needed the company, and I was sure "the boys" (that's how I refer to them in my head) could help her out. Even if they all had their own story and each one of them hurt a little bit.

Soon the cafe was closed more often than it was open. I began to drop by every day after school, just to see if the cafe was awake again. I still do. However against my wishes, the cafe slept in its dreary darkness. I don't know how it happened, but I wish I knew. I wish I could breathe life into it again, to see the oddly painted walls with the puzzle pieces nestled within. I wish I stared at the paintings just a little bit longer, thought about it just a little bit more, but when I was surrounded by all the pieces to their story I couldn't understand it then. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't put the pieces together into a comprehensible story. How could I understand it now, when the big mahogany door I once loved seperates me from them? I just want to know why my favorite little coffee shop sleeps for so long. But even the knowledge of why won't satiate my hunger. I long for the home cooked meals, I want to taste the divine red velvet cake once more, I simply wish for the coffee.

But I don't even drink coffee.

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Whoops slight emotion spill on the paper. Sorrynotsorry.