Wanderer

If I were in between life's glorious heaven and chaotic hell, I'd be idly sitting in a corner at Green Coffee Timog corner Tomas Morato with my feet on top of a chair. Sipping my signature hot or cold chocolate. Eating my spicy red tuna pasta. Listening to music. Wondering and wandering.

Midnights have passed, I've been occupying the same spot--just one of the white tables-and-chairs in the smoking area. The coffee shop crew Diane knows my name so well by now and how I'd prefer my drinks sans whip.

These are the times I'd talk to myself, because there's just no one else around other than three empty chairs--One, I'd use as footrest. The other, I'd use to put my sling bag on. The third's always empty, probably reserved for whatever realities I am coming face to face with at the moment.

Realities are my coffee guests.

I'd take a peek on the passersby--usually party-goers coming in cliques to the adjacent establishment. These are moments I'd be reminded that I am alone at my prime. That I am, figuratively, homeless at 26.

But these are not exactly sad moments, for I'd usually be more apathetic than emotional. The years have taught me to be strong. At times I'd just feel like a breathing piece of clothed meat without philosophy, without purpose...
...but with only a piece of music playing in my head.