EpItApH
09-28-2005, 05:10 PM
The strike of nine
Monday morning, as the clock struck 9:00, her entrance captured my eyes with no surprise of her presence; she strolls along the homely wooden floor to the front of the small cafe, her strides seeming lighter than air; as she takes her usual seat by the counter. She studies the menu for ten minutes, yet orders the usual.
Gently she reaches into her beautiful and strikingly expensive purse and takes out a novel. Her big brown innocence filled eyes, passionately concentrate on a love story as her delicate fingers turn the pages. And her reddish luscious lips read the words silently while taking sips from her cup of coffee.
Every now and then, she looks up from her book, to look out the large glass window of the café, at the windy street and the people passing by; then slowly removing a chunk of her perfect straight yet slightly wavy, dark brown hair away from her eyes, returns her complete attention to her book.
About an hour after her arrival she gently glides off her seat, puts her book back into her purse; pays the bill and gives a warm smile to the man handing back her change. And on her way out she leaves a generous tip in the tip jar.
I WATCHED her, everyday at this precise hour, enjoying her breakfast so peacefully; with her sophisticated perfection, delicate angel like beauty, and graceful behavior; as I sat at My usual seat, sipping My usual cup of coffee, I imagined what a wonderful and fulfilling life she must lead. In my head I painted a new portrait of her and her fairytale like life everyday. I could see everything she was, which I wanted to be; everything she had, which I wanted to have. I wanted to watch her the rest of the day. I wanted to know where she went after her breakfast. I wanted to know everything about her. But more than anything, I wanted.. to be her!
Everyday I watched her, and watched her; from day to day with a different novel in her hands. And everyday, I was overwhelmed with more and more envy. Oh how much I wanted it to be me, instead of her, walking into the café every morning, capturing all the attention and suddenly making everyone aware of the essence of her beauty, sophistication, and divine aroma which she carried into the room.
I watched and watched for many weeks and many months. Until one day the clock struck nine, my eyes went to the door, yet the door remained unopened. No gentle breeze bringing in that sweet familiar aroma, no lighter than air strides, no new love story, No One. Few days went by without her usual presence, few days more, I watched an empty seat.
I waited and waited. A month passed by. And as I waited another day, sipping my coffee, I noticed a photo on the table next to me, in the newspaper. I picked it up, it was her! Her photo published in the newspaper looking more beautiful than ever, and next to the photo was an article, the article consisting of the incident, of her devastating Suicide…And the last line of her suicide note; which read, “Oh how much I despised everything and everyone in my life; and how much I wanted… to be someone Else”.
Monday morning, as the clock struck 9:00, her entrance captured my eyes with no surprise of her presence; she strolls along the homely wooden floor to the front of the small cafe, her strides seeming lighter than air; as she takes her usual seat by the counter. She studies the menu for ten minutes, yet orders the usual.
Gently she reaches into her beautiful and strikingly expensive purse and takes out a novel. Her big brown innocence filled eyes, passionately concentrate on a love story as her delicate fingers turn the pages. And her reddish luscious lips read the words silently while taking sips from her cup of coffee.
Every now and then, she looks up from her book, to look out the large glass window of the café, at the windy street and the people passing by; then slowly removing a chunk of her perfect straight yet slightly wavy, dark brown hair away from her eyes, returns her complete attention to her book.
About an hour after her arrival she gently glides off her seat, puts her book back into her purse; pays the bill and gives a warm smile to the man handing back her change. And on her way out she leaves a generous tip in the tip jar.
I WATCHED her, everyday at this precise hour, enjoying her breakfast so peacefully; with her sophisticated perfection, delicate angel like beauty, and graceful behavior; as I sat at My usual seat, sipping My usual cup of coffee, I imagined what a wonderful and fulfilling life she must lead. In my head I painted a new portrait of her and her fairytale like life everyday. I could see everything she was, which I wanted to be; everything she had, which I wanted to have. I wanted to watch her the rest of the day. I wanted to know where she went after her breakfast. I wanted to know everything about her. But more than anything, I wanted.. to be her!
Everyday I watched her, and watched her; from day to day with a different novel in her hands. And everyday, I was overwhelmed with more and more envy. Oh how much I wanted it to be me, instead of her, walking into the café every morning, capturing all the attention and suddenly making everyone aware of the essence of her beauty, sophistication, and divine aroma which she carried into the room.
I watched and watched for many weeks and many months. Until one day the clock struck nine, my eyes went to the door, yet the door remained unopened. No gentle breeze bringing in that sweet familiar aroma, no lighter than air strides, no new love story, No One. Few days went by without her usual presence, few days more, I watched an empty seat.
I waited and waited. A month passed by. And as I waited another day, sipping my coffee, I noticed a photo on the table next to me, in the newspaper. I picked it up, it was her! Her photo published in the newspaper looking more beautiful than ever, and next to the photo was an article, the article consisting of the incident, of her devastating Suicide…And the last line of her suicide note; which read, “Oh how much I despised everything and everyone in my life; and how much I wanted… to be someone Else”.