I Long For Intimate Conversation

I long for intimate conversation. Two people, leaning on elbows over cups of coffee on a small table in the little coffee house around the corner, eyes only for each other, oblivious to the buzz of life surrounding them. She smiles and looks down, and I love the way her lips curl, the delicate filigree of her ear revealed when she brushes her hair back, the fragrant puff of breath as she laughs at my silly joke. The background hum of conversation, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and croissants, the warm cocoon that envelopes and separates us from the world outside, isolating you and me for a few precious moments from the breath of seven billions of others. Our whispered words are trivial, pointless, sweet nothings that say little but speak volumes about this brief, peaceful interlude in our otherwise busy day. Around us, the level of sound rises and falls the way the ocean does when it plays upon the beach, but I hear your every word without you having to change the volume, or tone, or pitch in which it is spoken. This moment between us, this back and forth passing of heartbeats, this world in which only we two exist, this lifetime of romance lasting the space of a cup of coffee is our island of joy in an ocean of indifference.
A crash of dropped coffee cups jolts them from their enchanting dream state and he feels a rush of sadness – and sees it in her eyes, too – that this momentary bond between two hearts, two loves, two humans, has ended and they must re-enter the chaos of their lives. They will meet again, tomorrow. ‘Til then, he cherishes the memory of her smile, her breath, her ear, her scent, his step light, his head in the clouds, his heart in his smile.

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