The table was white.
The colour of stark bleached sheets surrounded by a metal trim that made you flinch if touched by naked skin.
The whole place was cold and lifeless. The music playing as bland as undercooked halibut.
The humourless faces came in and out like an assembly line, furtive glances to see if they were being seen.
For even in a place like this, don't we all want to be seen?
Feel seen and therefore worthy and perchance through that, somehow more alive. What does one do to feel more alive? Can we set the circumstances just right?
Or does it come down on you at the strangest of times and places. Without warning you are smacked in the face by the realization that you are a living, feeling Masterpiece.
That the smell of the burnt coffee in this god forsaken Diner is actually a moment of enlightenment and the hot, dark liquid burning your throat is calling you home to the miracle of your own being.
Created: Apr 28, 2017Ezmeralda Document Media