Le Voyeur du Café

Pointing a gun with the stare only. She grabs a sip of her coffee and stares blankly. He raises his hands and rests his chin on his pressen knuckles.

No one dares say a thing.

This is where it all leads. Someone screwed up and someone is not willing to forgive.

Words are so sharp they cut through the electricity in the air.

He lifts his left arm and softly puts her hair behind her  right ear, and then returns the hand to its original position.

The emotional stronghold is clear from a distance, yet their words sound muted as the battle of arguments stretches on.

He explains her how the situation is and how certain things led to others. She puts her palm down over the table and moves in her chair to find a comfortable position.

No one understands how the situation got so out of control.

Barely blinking, both continue to exchange words, ideas, feelings, and hopes of a thing that probably never was.

He smiles cynically as he explains what he believes in and awaits a reaction in her. She seems frustrated at the whole conversation, at the guy sitting across the table from her, at this small uninteresting café and this whole town. He smiles and points at her trying to demonstrate an argument that contradicted itself, but then she replies and his expression goes back to serious.

She keeps a cold stare saying how much she repents for everything. The long hours waiting to hear three simple words, the distance that existed between both hearts, the way she promised and held her promise.

He talks about dignity, about what someone desires and what someone deserves. He admits to her that time ago she lost him, and he’s been trying to hold on to something he believed in.

There is no more coffee in her cup, so she raises and leaves. He scoffs, looks the other direction, and leaves through another door.

This is where it all leads.

I get up and leave; I am late for class.