I think coffee shops are some of my favorite places to daydream.
I sit, sip my coffee, and observe the world around me. People talking, laughing hopefully with their mouths full, because that shows real laughter. And sometimes, I see them ignoring each other, on their phones. I wonder if they even realize it.
Meanwhile, I sit, sip my coffee, talk to a few people for a few minutes if I know them. But mostly, I daydream as I people-watch.
And people-watching IRL is a lost art.
We all people-watch online, on social media for example, but it will never be as authentic as real people-watching. When you get to catch people unaware and unrehearsed. When their gestures, facial expressions, and mannerisms are left raw. No filter, no edit, no second take. That, I love.
As I try not to look like a weirdo with my head in the clouds while eating, I bring my Kindle and enjoy my book and my food simultaneously on my coffee dates.
Usually, I don’t write in coffee shops. It’s too crowded, too noisy, too interesting for me to focus on my own poetic thoughts. But like I said, I daydream, and I soak in all the inspiration of the present moment to pour it onto paper later on.
This article is the result of some of my people-watching sessions.
Three love poems inspired by coffee shops, and mostly PezGallo in San José del Cabo, where most of that daydreaming happens.
A Coffee Love Story.
I never believed in luck.
That’s it, of course, until I was starstruck.
It was a normal day in the middle of winter.
You were far, I was cold,
until you came closer.
Some daydreaming in between a sip or two,
disrupted by your charming “comment allez-vous?”
I looked up. I was still cold,
but there are some strangers’ smiles
that spark fires, warming you up inside.
It was a normal day, a regular hour,
until meeting you made coffee taste sweeter,
and for an instant I could swear
I saw flowers bloom in the middle of winter.
Oh, so lovely.
Oh,
there is so much beauty
in a peaceful sip of warm coffee,
in glances, shared surreptitiously,
in smiles you hide shyly
but they escape defiantly…
Oh, life is so lovely
when you feel the poetry
in all things seemingly ordinary.
El Extraño y el Romanticismo
Ayer un extraño, sentado
con su café en la mano,
me miró, me miró con algo curioso,
y pasando yo, me acarició el brazo.
“Mil disculpas” me dijo y se quitó el sombrero,
“escápate conmigo… ¿conmigo irías a otro año?”
“¿Otro año?” contesté yo con el acento molesto.
“Vamos un rato, tú y yo, a otro tiempo?
Donde un solo segundo mide el espacio
que existe entre mi mano y tu cuerpo…
donde mi café refleja como espejo
las risas que te robé, por atrevido…
donde por favor, tu nombre ya me lo has dicho,
y el mío, en tu corazón lo tengo bien colocado.”
Y siguió hablando, después de un suspiro:
“Escápate conmigo… ¿conmigo irías a otro momento?
Permítame… y yo te llevo…
a donde tus ojos iluminan mi mundo,
donde tu perfume me persigue paso a paso,
donde estás tú, acostada en mi pecho,
y te invento, así, escribiendo
con tinta invisible, nuestro destino.”
“Ahh ya entendí!” le dije yo, al desconocido.
“Vamos entonces tú y yo, a ese tiempo:
donde lo moderno, no ha acabado
con lo bonito del romanticismo”.
Y desaparecieron, pero sí dejó pagado
el café negro, pero nunca más amargo.
I had to include one in Spanish, of course.
I hope you enjoyed reading them, and that you’ll sip your next cup of coffee with even more tenderness and intention.
With Love, Anne.
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