Sunday Morning, Amongst Strangers
Dearest you,
I’m writing this from my favourite coffee shop, Oat Flat White at the ready, in what has very much become my Sunday morning routine.
There is a student furiously tapping away at his own laptop on the table next to me, which is scattered with textbooks and papers and the remains of a half eaten Croissant.
At another table is a man also poised at his keyboard, his gaze straying from his screen as he rubs his beard and ponders. I imagine him to be similar to me - watching the cursor blink in expectation, as he tries to formulate his fragmented thoughts into something that makes sense to anyone who might read it.
Then there is the woman in the corner, mid-fifties perhaps, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she reads her book. She is completely absorbed, refusing to tear her eyes from the page as she picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip.
In another corner is a couple who are studying Google maps and planning out their day - occasionally looking through the window with dismay. It seems no one told them that it almost, always, rains in London in February.
A woman with a Dachshund tucked under her arm makes her way to the counter to order her Latte, to-go.
Then there is me. At my favourite table by the window, where I can be found absentmindedly gazing out across the street at the beautiful Victorian Gothic buildings, and the quietness of a London that has not yet fully woken up on this Sunday morning.
I am reminded again, that this is a life that once only existed on my vision board. And yet, here I am.
The couple venture out into the rain, and the woman turns the page of her book before taking another sip of her coffee.
Happy Sunday.
Love,
Me x