And so I find myself doing it again;
Sitting upright in this padded leather chair,
In this climate-controlled suite, elbows resting on a polished desk, the fading wood scent covered now by the rising steam of a half forgotten mocha latte.
Thumbs resting on a spacebar worn smooth by fingerprints.
Legs tucked under, propped up on a gilded chest filled with old, forgotten notebooks; bending my toes upward, stretching the stiffness from my calves.
A dim light of encroaching day pushes against the drawn curtains, windless.
And I, here in my corner, watch my reflection in the glass of a photograph, my features bathed in the LED glow of the monitor, ghostlike and imprinted over two people embracing.
A giant face, waiting to devour them in their time-captured world.
The empty whiteness throbs, ebbs, whirls, pulses, breathes - yet remains silent.
The cursor blinks hypnotically, eternally patient, the taunting metronome of a rhythmless brain, beckoning -
Words appear and disappear and we never quite understand where it is they have gone.
Sitting here sipping this coffee,
Remembering coffee shops, sidewalks,
Graphite-smeared hands and poetry
Scrawled on the backs of napkins
Never seemed so difficult