Coffee Shop Psychiatry

The street is cold and lonely, Most people would find the small, dark Melbourne laneway neigh terrifying, claustrophobic and generally pulse increasing, but no not I. It’s not that I’m stupid it’s just that I’m not sure if I give a shit anymore. She’s gone very little could be worse then not being with her, it wasn’t even like we’d been together long, fuck we hadn’t been together at all, it was all might be’s, it was could of’s that where hurting me, the what if’s. What did she feel like in my arms longer then a few seconds, what would it be like to cuddle up to her on a blanket somewhere and look up at the stars, what was she like when it was just me and her, what did her lips feel like pressed into and against mine- I cut off the train of thought there, no point moping about could have been’s, for they will never be.

After fifteen minutes of walking and trying to think of anything and everything except her I finally come back to her, at least we’re still friends I think to myself, but she is so god damn beautiful, so fucking perfect how can I ever look at her and just like her as a friend? Shit, see Cal this is what happens when you put your heart out there so freely, it comes back to hurt you and stays hurting you. Why did she just suddenly stop liking me? Did she ever like me at all? Was she just fucking leading me on? Question after question after question.

I find a coffee shop that is still open this late, how late is it anyway? I check my watch, shit it’s only quarter passed nine, what do I mean still open? I sit down at the bar and a smiling Italian man comes over, drying a mug with a tea towel.
“Hello my young friend, what can I get you?” he asks, he accent is still there, faded but still there.
“ Strong long black with two sugars…and some general anethstetic.” He starts the coffee and then turns to me.
“Ah pain killers won’t help with your kind of hurt friend” he says gently, his eyes full of pity.
“How do you know what kind of pain I’m going through?” I ask what did this coffee man know about how I’m feeling?
“You have the look of a hollowed man in your eyes, a man who feels he’s lost half of himself.” He says simply.
“That about sums it up.” I say, he hands me the coffee, it’s very strong, very good too, I feel the anti oxidants go to work straight away, I instantly have a better state of mind.
“The look shouldn’t be seen on such a young man’s face.” He says, still pity full in his eyes.
“You’re saying I don’t know what love is because I’m not eighteen?” I ask over the top of the mug.
“No, I’m saying that young people should not know the un-happiness of heart break and ache, most young men don’t, the fact that you do is really something to pride yourself on.” He says, I place him in his late forties. “Not many boys would feel it, she’d be just another girl, plenty more where she came from, but that’s not how you see it because there will never be another just like her because we are all different, and you are mourning what could have been.” Shit this guy and me are on the same wavelength,
“She didn’t even give me a reason, she just said she didn’t feel the same anymore…that’s what hurts most.” He nods and sips from a mochiato, I finish my coffee and start getting out my wallet. “How much for the coffee?” I ask, he just smiles at me and shakes his head.
“That one’s on the house as long as you come back and we talk some more yes? Maybe when you’re not so blue?” I give him a nod of thanks and walk out of the safe bubble of light that the café exudes and into the cold darkness of the night again.

It was all might be’s, it was could of’s that where hurting me, the what if’s. I smile to myself and saunter off, not sure where I’m heading, where ever the ebb and flow takes me I guess, maybe there will be a new her, someone else to wonder about, I let my feet lead me and walk to the next coffee shop I see, sometimes some coffee shop Psychiatry is just what you need.

Coffee Shop Psychiatry

A boy called Star

Melbourne, Australia

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 6

Artist's Description

a different kind of heart break, the one you feel sad about not angry about

Artwork Comments

  • midzing
  • diLuisa Photography
  • A boy called Star
  • VickyJaywalk
  • A boy called Star
  • VickyJaywalk
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