This coffee shop is cold.
my vision’s blurred by
Why are all your thoughts so uncertain?
It’s knowing that any explanation is probably false.
Coming to these kind of places
in search of conversation? To escape myself?
This place where everyone seems so distant?
Propagated by the idea that coffee shops are for intellectuals and pseudo intellectuals alike
so for that matter, what’s even the point?
To think there was a time when I’d walk up to any of these strangers just to invade their private world.
Now reading Murakami,
I barely lift my head.