I met her in a Café

People are chatting around and the voice inside my head is pounding, begging me to listen to all those voices. So what, I’ll listen. What is it that you want me to upload in this blank paper? I feel overwhelmed with my own voice, so much anger, dark thoughts…

Today was a start, sit down and write, think about that café in Paris where Sartre sat down, the same one where you also sat, for hours, without any ideas to come… everything is a start, I guess, this really makes me tired, I’m tired of starting all over again, all the time.

It seems to be getting chilly in Los Angeles now, I hate the extreme heat. There is a big table of construction workers next to mine, how different their lives seem from mine, how structured most their schedules be.

-Happy birthday! someone says in the background and I start suddenly thinking about all the people who is born or was born today.

I go back to the black page and I see her, she writes next to me, we write together. She moves her pen so fast, I have barely done a full page now.

-If you change your mind… someone says.

No, I answer to myself, I won’t change my mind. Even if it seems there is nothing clear for me to do.

I find it peculiar to observe people around me in a Café, in a corner there are people like me, trying to speak their minds through a sheet of paper, others… lonely, distant, submerged in their phones and wearing huge headphones trying to block the exterior world, focusing…