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Time To Rest In Peace

I have a thing for coffee shops. Especially ones with comfy couches and good chai. I’m not much of a Starbucks girl you see. Give me a neighborhood coffee shop–with flyers on the wall and local bakery behind the counter and I’ll be a happy camper. I like it when I can kick my shoes off and if the music makes me swoon—then I’ll be back again and again.
Funny, the coffee shop I used to champion when I lived here in Cleveland now feels more like a roadhouse. New management–new folks that fill the empty seats. And a vibe that made me uneasy and leave never looking back.
But then I stumble upon a quaint little place downtown.
Ironically called Phoenix Coffee.
It feels faintly like home.
And now I can breathe.
Now I can relax a little.
Make amends with the grey skies and chilly weather I wasn’t expecting.
(Or maybe just denying.)
I sit and watch the men in expensive business suits delicately sip their coffee and nibble precisely on their bran muffins as they discuss things I’d rather not bother with. I look out the window and forgot how gloriously gritty the people are here.
I’m starting to remember who I was when I used to live here. When I used to call this place my neighborhood. When I used to know this place as home.
I’m starting to smile at the girl I used to be—I can see her in the shadows and as the dust blows up from the lake effect winds. I can sometimes hear her giggle and cry. I almost feel her longing bubbling up inside me again.
I wonder what she thinks of me?
Does she see me too as I walk past her staring up at the sky? Does she have anything to say?
Or can I let her fall away now and rest eternally?
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