I don’t like Coffee Shops

*Friction — Chapter Three.*

Maybe next time…

I crave those aesthetics
cozy spaces,
warm ambiances,
the smell of coffee,
the scent of pastry.

So I go to a cute café,
enjoy the atmosphere,
order one — with an apple pie or an éclair.

I sit farther away from people,
try to linger
watching, absorbing, listening.
Les chuchotements des gens in the background,
les copines qui rigolent,
le couple qui sourit,
le monsieur qui lit le journal
dans le coin,
espérant une bonne nouvelle.

I sip mon café
very slowly,
take une bouchée de tarte,
open my book,
start taking notes
and linger.

But I can’t.

I feel the tension
that someone is looking.
Restless.
Ma chaise is not that cozy.
The whispers won’t let me focus.
This space is not my own.

The aura feels shallow,
or maybe it’s just me
like this borrowed comfort
won’t touch me.

Eager to go,
I finish my coffee,
as if someone is waiting
hurrying back to mon propre confort.

Maybe I’ll try again next time.