Sing a Song of Time

Conversations echo through the room, clinking of coffee mugs and stirring of spoons.
A heavy aroma of the blackest brew lingers, embedded in the velvet couches.

He looks up from his silver teaspoon, spilling sugar crystals, and smiles at me.

I walk from the doorway and sit across him, polite questions asked and answered.

Interrupted by the hiss of steamed milk, and the shouts behind the counter, our eyes linger, then pull away, ashamed.

The scent of the sugary delights behind the glass counters catch the both of us and avoidance is unquestionable.

A plate of deep, brown chocolate dessert is brought to the small table, whispering temptations between layers of cocoa and cream.

Forks cut into the slice, and conversation picks up.

Laughter finds freedom under the fairylights and smiles reflect on every smooth, glass surface.

Lovestruck couples hold hands on the cobblestone roads outside, glowing silver with moonlight and joy.

Watches tick in different beats, a tune to a dance that never ends, reminding me of how young the night is, and how much more time I have yet to spend.