Illusion

I come here from time to time to this coffee shop. It has had many guises yet I have learned to see them all as just that: reflections of what passes through me.

I'll take a longstanding peek. You don't mind because you view things differently; in solid shapes of monocolour. I watch the changes that occur as the light sweeps languorously across the dirtied day, illuminating nothing yet revealing so many little trinkets of those who wish to wash away sleep with the rousing rumble of boiling milk and cappucino, mocha'd stucco, art deco and all that jazz.

You know I watch you in this public place where you try and fail to hide the things that might make you interesting, yet such is your disdain you do not try to hide them from me. As if you could. In fact, over the years you have gone from trenchant enmity to uninterested superiority to bleary-eyed disdain.

Nor have I stayed the same. But that is all I'll say for now as I have yet to show you the changes. And then, perhaps, I'll need not say. I'll need say no more.