literature

unconscious

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Irrelephantlovesyou's avatar
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Literature Text

there is a tiny girl in the coffee shop in my mind. sometimes she can be seen writing poetry and other times simply drinking iced tea. i ask her why she's there, because nobody else ever stops by the coffee shop in my mind. it's rather secluded, as one might guess.

but this girl laughs at me and says it's her favorite place to think. the cozy safe haven found in the town of melancholy, not too far from the town of broken optimism, is the best place to consider the world. i'd be one to disagree, but i myself rarely stop by. so instead i listen to her as she mumbles about always getting the words wrong, as i sip my own hot tea.

so what are you writing? i dare to ask. it's particularly warm inside the coffee shop in my mind. perhaps i have a fever.

this girl points to my hot tea. why do you drink this? she asks. why do you drink something that can burn your tongue?

my thoughts falter as i consider her question. i never enjoyed hot tea; i drank it merely because i couldn't stand the embarrassment of drinking only iced tea. in a world of hot beverage drinkers, why should i be different? but i don't say this to this girl. instead, i shrug and say, dunno.

she nods, as if she expected my answer to be as such. as a frequent visitor to the coffee shop in my mind, i suppose it makes sense.

well, she says, that's what i'm writing about.

and i don't think i understand.
maybe she should leave
© 2015 - 2024 Irrelephantlovesyou
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Mr-Timeshadow's avatar
Was this the Tearoom of Despair? :D