coffee shop - l.r.h

eight

"Alright, Ivy, I think it's about time I really get to know you."

Luke's eyes were tinted with curiosity, fogging the color that stained his iris. His fingers rubbed against each other as his hands rested on top of the papers. 

"My mind doesn't hold as much as you think it does, Luke." I spoke.

"I think you're lying."

"I think I know about myself better than you do." I retorted.

Luke chuckled slightly, bringing his hand up to his face and rubbing his thumb gently against the outer corner of his left eye.

"You're probably right about that one." The edge of his lip twitched into a smile.

"Most likely."

Luke laughed and pressed his journal closed. He held it out to me with his right hand, using his left to motion my journal towards him. Rather sharply, I snatched his and placed mine in his palm.

"Mine is practically empty." I told him, leaving my gaze at his journal.

"I don't care." Luke said as he began flipping through the blank sheets.

I couldn't help but stare at the notebook Luke had given me, for I knew that if his brain had a backup, these pages contained it. I slowly pulled the edges apart as the sound of soft crinkling papers filled the silence. I glanced up to Luke, finding him intently grazing over the words I wrote.

My gaze trailed back to the book in my hands. It appeared different now that I held it, the edges more torn and the sheets more warped. The journal was most genuinely loved, the wearing leather proving so. The exterior was smooth, while the inside had the latent texture of sandpaper.

I ran my fingers across the handwriting, which was pressed in hard enough it almost resembled braille. The words were written in careless, but also careful, print, each letter scribbled differently than the last one. The lines guided the letters into a straight form, and I assumed if they weren't there, the sentences would have slanted.

I centered my attention to the paragraphs as a whole, reading over them as if the journal in its entirety was a novel. I had begun to notice how Luke's writing resembled the manner in which he spoke in, with such fluent wording and thought. It was quite beautiful to think about, knowing he hadn't kept himself too reserved or different to the world. Everything he was had been totally, and entirely real.

"Can I ask you something?" Luke spoke, lifting his gaze from the journal.

I nodded.

"Why isn't there more writing in here?"

"Lots of writer's block."

The reality of it was, as much as I loved to write, it was almost rare occasion that my mind wasn't blocked from forming the words. Looking out into the world that surrounded me, I would describe the situation around me in a poetic, literary manner. When it came to transferring the descriptions to paper, it oddly became more difficult. Lately, the concept has become close to impossible.

Luke nodded as if he understood. "I hope the writer's block avoids you, because when it does, you create masterpieces, Ivy."

I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, knowing the color forming was vivid.

"The whole world is a masterpiece, Luke. It's all just a matter of how you tell about it." I smiled softly.

"If I could only tell about it the way you do." Luke grinned, his gaze falling to the floor.

"Stop that!" I giggled, gently pushing his shoulder. "You're an incredible writer."

"Maybe, but you're phenomenal."

"That's quite the word to describe someone." I smiled.

"Not when the description is accurate to the person." Luke locked his gaze with mine. "You, Ivy, are phenomenal. Very remarkable and extraordinary."

"I'm really not extraordinary."

"But most definitely phenomenal."

I eventually ceased to fight back, knowing Luke was far too persistent to let me think anything other of myself. Though, if anyone were phenomenal, I'd like to say that person would be him.

I proceeded to read through his journal, following each line as they brought me to multiple more pages. Everything looked so scattered, yet they all fit together, as if the sentences were puzzle pieces and when placed correctly, created a whole.

I couldn't fathom how Luke aspired to write as I did, for it wasn't special, and frankly not even a common occurence. In his journal, he described all these places on edges of the Earth I hadn't come across. He talked of graffiti plastered on rusting brick walls that hid behind alleys, and described the way he pictured the city streets and hundred feet tall buildings. Luke wrote images of the worn coffee shop we both knew so well, and of how the view from the very top of the John Hancock building appeared through his eyes. He made the most ordinary things into visions of such wonder.

"Have you found your purpose?" I asked, breaking the silence that filled the apartment.

Luke removed his gaze from the window, a soft, and almost unrecognizable smile curved onto the corners of his lips.

"Not sure." Luke shrugged. "Though, I'd like to think those places in my journal give me a sense of one."

"They must be special places then."

"I'll take you to them." His smile grew wider.

"Is that so?" I spoke, surprise prominent in my tone.

"It's all about finding a purpose for yourself, Ivy. You're entitled to that." Luke chuckled. "So, I'm going to help you find it."

"When do we start?"

"Tomorrow." Luke closed my journal, pushing it towards me. "I promise you by the end of this, that journal will be filled cover to cover."

I hesitated before sliding Luke's journal towards him. He picked it up and held it close to him once again, as if those pages would never be revealed to me another time.

"Okay?" Luke tilted his head faintly.

I nodded.

Luke stood from where he sat, tugging at certain edges of his clothing. He took one last gaze into the city he perceived as a galaxy, then headed towards the door.

"We'll meet at the coffee shop, then go from there." Luke stated firmly, holding his hand on the doorknob.

"I'll see you then." I replied with a soft smile.

"Goodnight, Ivy." He concluded with a gentle wave.

"Goodnight, Luke."

Luke stepped outside of the doorway, giving me one final glance. We both pressed smiles to our faces as our gaze broke and I closed the door behind him. Footsteps padded quietly and the door that lead to the staircase slammed shut. The corridor fell silent, Michael's music long gone and the city streets inaudible from the end of the condo I stood at. Everything was calm. Everything was good.