Parks & Cafés

Parks&Cafes

Wind blew like a whisper in the air. The world seemed to be getting colder as we slipped into November. I never truly liked the cold. It felt bitter and unwelcoming. But the winter was your favorite season.

All the leaves on the trees were turning warm shades of reds, browns, oranges, and yellows. People wore their thin coats and colorful scarves. We sipped hot lattes as we wondered aimlessly upon the paths within the park. The sun sang a dull tune through the cracks of the maple leaves.

Half of our time was spent there. We would wonder the never-ending winding paths of the park. We would lose ourselves in time and in the heart of the tamed forest. We would sit on park benches in comfortable silence. We would share pieces of terrible poetry. And we would laugh.

The other half of our time was spent within the warm walls of the cafe. We would write messages upon whiteboards back and forth across a wooden table. We would explore the menu; sipping drinks both hot and cold. We would share our thoughts; the good ones and the bad ones. And we would laugh when they were funny and would give comfort when they were not.

I was taking Psych 101 to better understand myself. I wanted to understand the way my mind worked and why. It's funny to say that I learned more about myself and the world with you than I ever did inside any classroom.

I learned that silence isn't always awkward. I learned that cold hands can have warm hearts. I learned that I can only be embarrassed if I allow myself to feel embarrassed. I learned that depression doesn't cancel out happiness. I learned to love myself.

"It's almost winter." We walked together through a tunnel of leaves. The sound of our footsteps echoed through the emptiness of a 3AM park. "It's getting colder." You looked to me as I grasped onto my coffee cup for warmth. "Can you feel it?"

A playful eye roll was sent your direction the instant the question settled. "No," I said. "I'm wearing two sweaters and a jacket just for kicks."

You smirked down at me. Your hand reached up and you fixed your glasses. I admired you in that moment. The deepness of your skin. The way its color popped against the creamy white sweater you wore. The color of your eyes. How they seemed to spark even in the darkness of the early morning hours. The way your hand held your coffee cup. The way your hand held your coffee cup the same way I wanted you to hold my hand.

"Any plans for the break?" I asked. I just wanted to get my mind back on track. Back onto any track.

"I'm going home for the break." You take a sip of your coffee. "We don't actually celebrate Thanksgiving, but my mom does appreciate me showing face every once in awhile."

I nodded at that. "Oh me?" I said a bit sarcastically. "Oh, I'm going home for a few days as well. Thanks for asking." I playfully nudge into you; forcing chuckled out of you.

"I was just about to ask." You protested.

The air around us settled and the sound was gone. It came back with every fallen leave that was crushed by our footfall. I sipped my coffee slowly as we continue.

I didn't mind the silence, but I preferred your voice. I shuffled through some thoughts before asking you something I had wondered.

"Have you ever fallen in love?" It was a loaded question and I was fully prepared to hear your loaded answer.

"Yes and no." There it was. You had time to overthink everything. Answers were never simple for you and I adored that. "I have fallen in love with the thought of Her, but I have not yet met Her." You smiled as your lips wrapped around the mouth of your coffee cup.

"Who is Her?"

"Her is everything." You said, and I could feel the poetry in the air. "When I first meet Her I don't think I'll know. I don't think she'll know. I can't guarantee that she'll love me back, but I know I'll love her with everything." You chuckled. "Her will be like every poem I've ever read; the good and the bad. Her will be every fight I've ever gotten into. Her will be depression and anxiety. Her will be happiness and mania. Her will not only be the good times but the bad. She'll make me feel sick and well at the same time. She makes me feel like vomiting and laughing in unison. She might be pretty, but that won't matter because love isn't pretty." You shrugged. "Love is blind and I," you nodded. "Will be blinded. "

Your words sat well with me. They were both beautiful and ugly, like love. I smiled as I replayed them in my mind. Combing through all the underlining meanings and similes. 

"Do you think you'll meet, Her, soon?" I asked.

"Only time can tell." You said. "Besides, I'm not looking for anything like that right now anyway."