Dear Handsome fuck,
You sit all glorious sipping coffee on cafes, drinking them with much conviction and aura of control. You read three books, and a newspaper. Your facial reactions animated in each waking minute that pass. You have a stubble and boyish bed head. You wear moccasins on rock star t-shirts. Your eyes are deep slits of penetrating gray. Molten quicksilver, such an anatomy to behold unto. I see you everyday coming in, drinking coffee. Black with too much sugar. The occasional cheesecake and croissant. You hovered like a magnet on this dead dreamless surface. Too small and suffocating, not to look at you. I’d always use my gaze to tell you how much I want to explore who you are, gaze at you like my mind is the book you read everyday. You’re a soul worthy to be explored and surrender unto. Let’s quit this dying tensions and animosity. For what is worth, I’m better than the coffee you sip on, and worse than the fictional characters that looms on your books.
The girl you tipped with curiosity and pained longing for your lips, the one with the smile that never leaves her face when you’re around.
Staff note: So that’s what the Starbucks girls are thinking. Good writing.