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Cafe love

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Introduction

Caf´┐Ż love ''Amour, amour et seul' I'm alone. Meaning, I have no one to love, no one to love me back and quite frankly at nearly forty years old I feel past the point of having the chance to make a change. The fact that I live in Paris; the romantic capital of the world, does little to help the situation. I've lived here almost all my life; parents used to live in Wales, then England, then California for some time. Being young, I travelled with them, but now, here in Paris, I finally feel at home. I struggle to answer the question "why did I come to Paris, of all places"? I suppose it's because here that I can at least dream of one day, maybe, possibly finding some way of not being alone anymore. Everywhere I look, seems to be another person's life filled only with what I want. I'm not selfish and I'm sure that having someone else in my life would make me a happier person. This is why I have a strong resentment towards people who have a habit of betraying, lying or simply being unpleasant. Because they take life for granted, not experiencing, learning or challenging. That's not to say that I am unhappy, I often sit with my steaming coffee at one of the many street cafes in town and spend time people watching, as I pass time and reflect on my achievements I wonder what all these souls have achieved, where have they been? ...read more.

Middle

He questioned the women whilst glancing around for a working waitress. ''Erm, yes a hot chocolate please Eric'' I stop listening for a second, and make a mental note of the man's name. He politely ordered for himself and his wife whilst searching for his wallet. He looked inside and shuffled uncontrollably to the bottom. Finally, he held out only two euros. Looking over at his wife, he saw her becoming quite impatient. 'I haven't got all day!' She shouted whilst quickly gesturing towards her watch. Eric cancelled his order and paid for hers, looking quite flustered. 'Keep the change', he murmured under his breath. His wife stood up and took her drink off him, 'What took you so long buying one silly drink?' Questioned his wife, again impatiently. Eric stared blankly back at her, 'I...just, couldn't remember what you wanted.' The woman then began arguing about how he wastes so much time over everything and just does not listen. If only she saw what I just saw, she wouldn't bother to question his actions. I stand up and move away from the couple, there is a knot forming in the back of my throat and my vision is becoming blurry. As I look down at the table, the snow has now completely melted, as one of my tears drop I can see it clearly on the glass table top. As I stare at the single tear, it seems to multiply like bacteria in seconds as more and more appear, as if by magic. ...read more.

Conclusion

He is still looking at me, so I begin to look at him in closer detail, he's an attractive man with a well cared for appearance, his shiny shoes gave that away. I scare myself with shock when I realise who he is, the regular who comes here. The man who's forever getting stood up by his wife. He stands and walks nervously towards where I'm standing, frozen. As he walks, I have the decision to walk away and pretend I have no idea that he's walking to talk to me. Or I could stay and see what he wants; everything seems to be a little flirtatious even though he's married. Maybe, I never really had hard evidence. I do have quite a writers' imagination. He begins to speak, ''Hello. I hope you don't mind but I often sit here alone and see you here alone too.'' I look straight into his blue exotic eyes, immediately I feel a connection. Just two strangers, just two alone strangers. I feel like I have been frozen in time as I begin to recite a monologue of thoughts to myself. 'I was wondering if you would like to sit alone together some time?' "I, giving up structure. I know that words once read will always be spoken And fabric once torn will always be scarred, And the night will always be broken by the Gentle murmur of cars... But, what is costume without personality,, Or a poet without publication What is a man without attempt, Or a woman without patience. Here comes the thunderstorm. I, silent." ?? ?? ?? ?? Amy Parsons ...read more.

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