The coffee in the cozy corner Cafe, tastes like a condensed ideas. A seemingly quiet place, by shelving with mysterious books, that sometimes captures a new clueless customer.
In comfortable armchairs, collapsed, assiduous wandering souls who keep silent, pass the leaves. Hand sanded by the letters, required to sustain those words, looking to quench their thirst. Caught up in the endless knowledge, in the incomplete higher reasoning, We spent the afternoon, the days. No consolation.
Often we are struggling in external wars, noisy bustle of everyday life, without defined winners, or reasons that the inertia of the evolution of your cycles. Just thinking, in crossing the insulating gate of coffee. Because there we heal the wounds by inspecting the verses of the great.
Sometimes I discover special essences, It elevated my presence mysteriously, filling me with needles of compression. And I become the center of attention for a moment, by issuing revelations that radiated to my colleagues. Although, frequently, I shall confine myself to be one of watching them the lucky.
The vitiated atmosphere seems more dense as I go to my searches. Frequently, to intrude on the coffee, overwhelms me the feeling that, We are just one example of the desire of men to penetrate in the high. Yearning to escape.
Creatures that we look forward to calm, being hit by a sublime syllabic crescendo. And hopefully end up with our miserable lives, and with the small daily wars, going beyond the Ribbon of perfection. Only aspire to find that point and apart from consciousness, between letters and lyrics.