On a peaceful Saturday morning, there are three kinds of people in a coffee shop.
The first type of people are sitting in that small, narrow corner alone while staring at their phones. These people are so quiet; they haven’t say a single word since they walk into this shop. Their fingers move so quickly on their phones and their frigid face tries to extend their cheek muscles. They are texting with their friends or looking for certain information on the internet. Their eyes are filled with anxiety and dissatisfaction toward this world. This is not the real solitude. They seem alone, but they are not alone. Their minds are covered with many annoying trifles and they are controlled by their family pressure, heavy-work and their pessimistic, dim moods. These people need to take a walk around the center park. Sunny meadows, glistering flowers, leafy woodland and fresh air can uncover the curtains in front of their minds, so sunlight can revive again.
The second type of people are surrounded by a large crowd. The large crowd of people are having a ceaseless talk, but the second type of people barely join them. The second type of people don’t seem fit in the big conversation well because they are always being distracted. They are watching the passengers on the street or slip into their own thoughts. They are imagining unrealistic fairy tales or recalling some interesting experiences. They don’t have the real solitude. They don’t have a tenacious attitude toward their life; they are always faltered by people and events around them. These people need to go to the sea. They need to sit on the beach and watch the sea whole day. That blue, profound and deep sea will help him. Eventually, they will have a strong fortitude and understand the meaning of lives.
There is a young lady sitting in front of the window. She is smiling and enjoying the beautiful view of this city. She sips her coffee and closes her eyes for a while, feeling the sunshine laying on her face. She lives in a real solitude.
Outside the coffee shop, three birds sing on the tree like telling passengers their solitude.