I've got a hunger twisting my stomach into knots. The desire to be alive and in it all, down the depths of the Soho streets. But really, I'm just attracting stares, and this is Sunday, and I want a second cup of coffee. Nothing really is, it's just thinking that makes it so.
So after wandering the avenues and letting the blue skies kiss my shoulder-blades, I'll sit back down for another cup. I'll try to write some words but nothing will come out. And instead, I'll sit and wonder of every love that could've been. My brain is a master of "what-if" scenarios. Anything to escape from the silent stillness of this present moment. This is Sunday afternoon in Soho.
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