Coffee Shop Muse 

As I sit in a window seat with my oat milk latte, I can’t help but scan the bustling world around me.

Numerous different drinks orders, loneliness, catching up with friends, a mother’s snatched moment before the school run, a business deal completed.

As my eyes reach the window, I witness one bumper kiss with another bumper, a child’s rabbit they probably fall asleep with falls to the ground, a toddler discovering their new favourite flavour of ice cream.

My attention is brought back inside the walls of the coffee shop. A mother soothing her newborn baby on their first trip out post birth. Three generations around one table. A beautiful site despite the new mum’s anxiety. I want to tell her she’s doing just fine.

The constant thrum of the coffee grinder gently blends in the background, almost becoming a soothing sound.

I feel myself jump as a teaspoon clatters against the marble floor tiles. My nerves aren’t what they used to be.

I inhale as a fresh, steaming mug of coffee is carried past me. They say it’s one of the best scents, I wouldn’t disagree.

When I was a girl, I would sit in this very same spot, my mother across from me. Of course back then it wasn’t one of the big chains that have probably come from America. The owner was Angela, a middle-aged woman who made every sandwich herself and baked each cake with love. It was Angela who taught me how to make a Victoria sponge cake. I never did use a different recipe.

I take a walk through the café. Many faces in phones, groups of acquaintances so lost in conversation they couldn’t tell you about the bustling world that is currently surrounding them. I see a woman reading a newspaper, this engulfs my attention, something that has become an almost unseen site. Of course someone is upset by something the government has done. Will there ever be a day there won’t be conflict?

The oat milk latte I was kidding myself was for me has been removed by the young girl working here. I haven’t yet got used to no one knowing I’m here, watching.