Quiet Contemplation

I’d sit and stare out the window and imagine the bottles lining the sill were filled with whispered messages. Indecipherable murmurs that radiated with the caress of the sun. Quietly, I would rotate my glass of ice and Coca-Cola popped can. My nimble fingers would take a napkin, folding it into various intricate shape combinations. Slowly, I would pull the napkin open. Snowflakes. 

The table had a bubbled area where the varnish came into contact with heat and I would run my fingers along it and pull off a little chip of the coating when no one was looking. I’d collect little crumbs that escaped after-breakfast cleanup, sometimes lining them up or arranging them in a circular pattern. 

I would work a crossword, read the funnies, check out my horoscope (I’m a Leo), and flip through the coupons. I’ve always been much older than I seem on the outside. 

Quiet contemplation.