More and more, though, she starts to ask herself why she must come and sit at this table every day? He, lately, doesn’t seem to show up. When He does He just sits there in silence and does or says nothing. She starts to wonder what kind of relationship this has become.
Why not just go on into the day and leave Him be? He’s not going to be missed, and let’s face it, He will come along on her day anyway, just like He always has. Even then, He just seems silent. She might hear him cough or grunt. And that warmth that she so cherished from Him, that glow that He has, it’s almost like He has covered it up in some heavy coat… and it’s summer time for Pete’s sake.
And the book of letters doesn’t carry with it the same spark it used to. The romance is gone from them. Oh, they are still true, every word he wrote her still resonates with truth, but what good are words of truth if there is no relationship to carry them?
She hardly writes Him her thoughts during that time at the table. She has nothing more to say. He was her breath once. Her breath. Without Him she couldn’t breath. She hung on His every word. She even used to delight in the intimacy of presence with Him. It was enough to just BE with Him. What happened? Now she sips her cup alone in a room full of Him. They might exchange pleasantries here and there, might even be a conversation, but it’s usually about someone else.
Is this what comes of meeting at different tables around the world for over 21 years? Has it come to this?
She knows He’s bigger than a table and a cup of coffee every morning. She knows there is more than what it appears to be. But eventually, knowing isn’t enough. It doesn’t even come close to being half the battle. And this isn’t about battling for his intimacy and love. One should never have to battle for the love of a Lover. Even if it was true, she doesn’t have it in her anymore to fight for it.
She starts to ask more questions. What has she been doing all this time? She might have been coming to the wrong coffee shop, sitting at the wrong table. How was she to know, it is He who meets her wherever she sits. Maybe there was a message left with the barista and she never got it, and still she comes and wonders what it has all become.
“Please, tell me there has to be more,” she says to herself, hoping he hears it. “I can’t go on living like this, it takes my breath out of me in a way that leaves me empty.” She imagines He must hear these whimpering cries of her heartbeat. He has to because she no longer has the strength to speak them out loud.
Still, she walks in the door, orders her cup, and sits down to the table. She wonders why she even bothers anymore.