Sometimes I like to sit in the corner.
Looking out. Not looking in.
I see the people all around.
Laughing. Talking. Breaking bread.
For some, it’s just a slow weekend morning.
For others, an occasion, it seems.
The young. The old. The in-between.
Couples. Families. Friends.
Music plays on the radio.
Paintings adorn the wall.
So loud…
It’s hard to hear yourself think at first.
The cacophony drowning out the thoughts
That needed a break anyway
And the din settles in
To an enveloping comfort.
Each of the noises,
A note in the vibrant symphony.
Clinking silverware. Glasses.
The sound of warm plates hitting wooden tables.
Energy. Vibrations. Humanity. Connection.
A microcosm of our existence.
Every brick on the wall represents one of us.
A story.
Life, and all its experiences (good and bad),
Is the mortar that binds us together.
Love…
Is the door that welcomes us in.
Soliloquy on Imperfectionism 