Metaphors In Runic, Part IV
I sit in the cafe, watching the world go by. I am disconnected, someone pulled my socket out the wall. I can feel my resting bitch face kicking in, but I don’t apologise.
My orange juice arrives with a waitress who has a tattoo around her left wrist, a bracelet. The kind of tattoo I would like.
A woman I have seen before sat down opposite me. I envy her hat, it’s gorgeous. Wonder what her life is like.
She’s anxious, waiting for someone, and she must come here often because she asked the waitress for the usual.
My orange juice is good. Slightly sour, the way I like it.
The air is filled with the joyful (and not so joyful) screams of children and traffic. I remember the first time I came here. A few years ago, now.
A guy with a limp is being pulled along by his dog.
Miserable people stare out the windows from inside the cafe. I wish I could read minds. I’d need a translator built in though.
I’m sorry if this stuff bores you guys, I know it’s not my usual. But I just can’t seem to write poetry at the moment. A gentle glimpse inside my head and life is better than nothing, I thought. I hope you agree ❤
Ciao!! 🙂 ❤ ^ ^
I want to thank you guys for ninety follows – it brings tears to my eyes knowing that ninety people liked my writing enough to follow me! I truly can’t thank you enough, I’m eternally grateful to you guys, you keep me going through the darkest days ❤
Thank you, so much ❤
^ ^
Bluebell For A While 
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