The Barista

August 29, 2011
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I walk into the coffee shop.
I order my espresso, and sit at the table
with my notebook.
I watch
as she prepares my order.
She is a simple barista.
Nothing more to me.
Nothing less.
Nothing but another wanderer
just out of school
more than likely scraping
to make ends meet.
But this light.
In this dim light
I see her in a new light.
So fragile.
So flawed.
Her alabaster skin is smooth like porcelain.
Her nose is a bit
larger than normal
but it fits her face perfectly.
Her eyes,
like the blue depths of the sea
lulling me to sleep
with their suffocating
She does not notice me
as I am called up to retrieve my order.

But I
have noticed

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