Observing Them

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Enjoying life by observing people

Submitted: September 03, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 03, 2012




Lately I find myself most of the time sitting at a cafe sipping on my cup of coffee alone enjoying the noisy silence.

Everybody around talking to each other but not to me. They don't know me.

Some look at me for a while then look away. Some do stare at me, sometimes in a rude way and some don't even notice that I'm there.

But I have my eyes on each and every one of them. I am observing them.

One by one each and every person.

I try not to stare, that would be inpolite but I look every once and a while at some person at the cafe.

I start watching them. How they talk, what expressions their faces have, try to figure out where they came from why they dress like that what their purpose in life is.

Some people look sophisticated. Others pretend to be.



Some women look like sluts in the way they dress, trying to catch someones eye.

These kind of women are desperate.They are looking for the right person trying to be noticed with the way they dress or the way they act and talk and laugh out loud while looking around, trying to catch somebody looking at them.

And when they look in space I catch their dreams and I think I know what they feel like.

Choked by loneliness.

In need for somebody to turn to in their lonely lives and in their empty beds.



The most people I like to observe are couples.

I've seen quiet couples. The kind of couples who dont talk much. They dont even have this "in love eye contact".

It seems to me that they are bored by each other. Or they are just too busy typing on their laptops. Or they are in love but they left love behind at home waiting for them to come back like a little child to embrace them and make them forget all their worries and stress.



Old people give me a peek into the future. MY future.

They mostly are alone too. Just like myself now (which sometimes makes me feel old). They make me wonder if I'll end up like this after lets say 30 years.

All the people around can't seem to see the companiants they bring along with them to the cafe because they are just too busy reading or writing or chatting with friends on BBM or talking to each other.

But I do see them.

They are their happy and sad memories in all kind of shapes, bringing their faded youth back to life again.

These memories rise up through the air with the smoke of the cigarette they exhale.

I love old people, 'cause most of them aren't in a hurry to do things, not stressed out.

They seem to enjoy every little second.

Maybe because they can see the essence of life.

They enjoy exsisting. 


So do I.

I love my life at THIS perticular time.

I love myself as I watch these people.

I feel invisible and free. I let my thoughts run wild. I paint their stories of life with my own colours.

They own their true stories of their true lives and I make up a whole different version about them.

I invent  their past, present and future in a whole other perspective.

I do it by one single,easy  thing:

Observing them.


© Copyright 2018 monakaraki. All rights reserved.

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