Oblivious to the world outside,
She sat on a bench next to the café.
The cheapest coffee on the menu, was her ticket,
To sit solemnly for hours, engrossed in a book.
She would often be found with her head dug deep in a book,
Or scribbling random notes in a black diary.
At times she would seem eternally lost,
Staring at the wall or talking to someone, only she could see.
And when you’d look at her bewildered,
She’d shyly say, she was talking to herself.
A sandwich would lay by her table,
But her pen cap, she’d prefer to nibble.
Holding a mug of warm coffee she’d blow some air,
Then watch the mist, form on her glasses.
Doodles she’d draw on tissues sometimes,
And give it to a child she’d see nearby.
With the back of her hand she’d wipe her tears at times,
Hollow dimples embraced her cheeks when she’d smiled.
With longing eyes she’d watch couples hold hand,
Wishing secretly for someone to sit beside her.
Hey, what are you writing ? Someone once asked her,
Her diary read : The girl at the café.
He sat by her side and read her note,
Smiles were exchanged & something magical happened over a coffee.