Les Journaux Dans Le Café Part I
A. Keali
Have you ever had a broken heart? The one that came all of the sudden, crushing a non-existent void in your chest, making it bigger and bigger, until it developed completely all over your body, like you were suddenly hit by perpetual cold wind that touched every single expanse of skin all over your body? Like somebody suddenly threw you over and over again until you could not feel anything but nausea and something that degrading away inside you, fading until you could not feel anything but the cold and ache.
I have.
The feeling varies from time to time. The coldness and the emptiness and the aching madness inside. Sometimes I feel like I'm about to throw up, sometimes I can hold everything inside, but there are times, when I feel like the world is about to end, like right now. Despite the warmth that the coffee shop provides and even with the never ending coffee and tea I order, I cannot make these feelings go away. I feel so incomplete and lost, but above all, unloved. There's an uneasy feeling that's nagging on my brain, like a simple migraine, but I'm afraid I don't have any medicine to cure this. I want to drown and to scream at the same time.
I confess, I want to feel. Not this emptiness, not this coldness, this is not feeling. This is a state of soul. Of something so delicate and fragile that once tainted by this overbearing nothingness could spread through my whole existence. My past, my present and my future. A tainted present that over think about the mistakes in the past that leads to this... unchangeable soul. All fractured. Again, I want to feel. I want to feel again the joy of discovering something new, the thrill of knowing someone that looks like you and the happiness and contentment when you enjoy being completely being with them. I need that. I need everything. I need someone to remind me that I do exist, albeit temporary, in this world. That my name does mean something to someone, to anyone. That even though at times I could be a complete mess, there is someone that still loves me no matter what I do. I need to be loved. I need to feel that passion that takes you away, that overwhelms you, energies so big, they make you want succumb and give yourself fully to them. I want something that last. Something that could overcome any troubles. I want to be that girl. The girl that someone adores and loves irrevocably and completely. I want to be the girl with the power, the power that could turn a man's life upside down, a power that could affect someone's life. A power that could change the course of someone's life, that could touch someone's life.
I'm writing this at work. Not much of a busy day for me, only few constant customers stay in here, the other customers came and went to continue their lives which were previously nonexistent to me. And as a barista-slash-cashier-slash-waitress, I get to play my own little game I invented awhile ago when I could not interact with the other employees, it's simple really, when costumers come and order, I would judge which mood they are currently in or what kind of job they have by their looks, tips and orders. For example, earlier today, one of our regular costumers ordered his green tea with a smile, great tips and great patience, so I assumed that he just got his salary today and he was waiting for his future-fiancée to arrive and propose her then and there. There was also a rather rude man, he was wearing an impeccably tailored suits and expensive suitcase, he frowned as he ordered his espresso and I immediately thought that this man was going to make a good mafia, or, if he fancied, a dictator. There was also a nonstop talking woman earlier today, she was wearing a matching pink outfit, from top to bottom, and was carrying a rather misplaced looking puppy; from her looks and the way she ordered her "Ice tea with no sugar, unless they are not very sweet or approved by my organization, The blahblahblah (I have no idea what kind of organization she had). And less ice please, I do not want them to change the taste and the colour of the tea. Do you have anything else besides black tea? White tea perhaps?" and so on, I knew she was one of those girls you avoid during high school because she had a nasty mouth that won't stop talking. I think I need a new job. Or a new identity perhaps? I need to have someone that could make me happy. And I need to refill the green tea guy's drink.
B. Marnell
A waitress promptly refills my green tea as I look away to the street outside. I know her, even though only a passing. Her name is Keali and I can see a perpetual mourning across her face, her eyes tell me so. I think she shares the same ache with me, even though I do not have the aura that gives off chill and disinterest in the human world as she gives me. As I turn my head and smiles briefly at her, she smiles back; the exchange is like sharing a knowing thought to each other, a thought that we share the same grief, that we have our own secret world underneath all the façade, underneath layers of faux happiness.
As a writer and as a constant observer, I could see through people's façade. Mind you, I'm unlike that glittery vampire which teens adore nowadays, but, I could see which is which and which is not. I could see that Keali has a sense of otherwordliness that I adore so much. She seems to be disconnected from this world, even though she blends really well. I think I've met her before, but I could not place where.
As a man, I'm entranced by her eyes and the way she carries herself. It is as if she is dying for someone to touch her, yet she is too afraid. She is too afraid by the idea of people knowing her insides. Her nightmares and her dreams. Her happiness and her nothingness. But, is she really happy? By her current state and her eyes, I do not think she is. I think she is waiting, waiting in a metaphorical station for a train to go and take her away. I don't think she doesn't care where she'd end up, but I think, I think she does care about the journey and about the idea that she is away from all these nonsense. Do I judge too much?
I'm writing this at work. Not much of a busy day for me, only few constant customers stay in here, the other customers came and went to continue their lives which were previously nonexistent to me. And as a barista-slash-cashier-slash-waitress, I get to play my own little game I invented awhile ago when I could not interact with the other employees, it's simple really, when costumers come and order, I would judge which mood they are currently in or what kind of job they have by their looks, tips and orders. For example, earlier today, one of our regular costumers ordered his green tea with a smile, great tips and great patience, so I assumed that he just got his salary today and he was waiting for his future-fiancée to arrive and propose her then and there. There was also a rather rude man, he was wearing an impeccably tailored suits and expensive suitcase, he frowned as he ordered his espresso and I immediately thought that this man was going to make a good mafia, or, if he fancied, a dictator. There was also a nonstop talking woman earlier today, she was wearing a matching pink outfit, from top to bottom, and was carrying a rather misplaced looking puppy; from her looks and the way she ordered her "Ice tea with no sugar, unless they are not very sweet or approved by my organization, The blahblahblah (I have no idea what kind of organization she had). And less ice please, I do not want them to change the taste and the colour of the tea. Do you have anything else besides black tea? White tea perhaps?" and so on, I knew she was one of those girls you avoid during high school because she had a nasty mouth that won't stop talking. I think I need a new job. Or a new identity perhaps? I need to have someone that could make me happy. And I need to refill the green tea guy's drink.
B. Marnell
A waitress promptly refills my green tea as I look away to the street outside. I know her, even though only a passing. Her name is Keali and I can see a perpetual mourning across her face, her eyes tell me so. I think she shares the same ache with me, even though I do not have the aura that gives off chill and disinterest in the human world as she gives me. As I turn my head and smiles briefly at her, she smiles back; the exchange is like sharing a knowing thought to each other, a thought that we share the same grief, that we have our own secret world underneath all the façade, underneath layers of faux happiness.
As a writer and as a constant observer, I could see through people's façade. Mind you, I'm unlike that glittery vampire which teens adore nowadays, but, I could see which is which and which is not. I could see that Keali has a sense of otherwordliness that I adore so much. She seems to be disconnected from this world, even though she blends really well. I think I've met her before, but I could not place where.
As a man, I'm entranced by her eyes and the way she carries herself. It is as if she is dying for someone to touch her, yet she is too afraid. She is too afraid by the idea of people knowing her insides. Her nightmares and her dreams. Her happiness and her nothingness. But, is she really happy? By her current state and her eyes, I do not think she is. I think she is waiting, waiting in a metaphorical station for a train to go and take her away. I don't think she doesn't care where she'd end up, but I think, I think she does care about the journey and about the idea that she is away from all these nonsense. Do I judge too much?