I stand in a dark coffee shop. In here, it is the colour of coffee itself. It is early morning but the shop is already full. People are writing, chatting, thinking, reading. The silver of the machines glistens, reflecting the light from the windows through the thick, oily air.
The smell of rich coffee tinged with chocolate rises, swirling around my head and making me giddy, dizzy.
I can taste it, from the tip of my tongue to the back of my throat. Sweet and bitter, thick and creamy.
I’m hungry, cold, and the anticipation is almost too much as I wait for the chocolate to melt into the coffee, to be mixed and poured. A dark magic.
I glance at the clock as time slows to a halt, the second hand creeping from one line to the next, barely moving across the clock face.
Can time slow down? Can it bend? Can it then speed up again, like a movie reel staring to move, colours and music and picture a momentary blur before becoming clear, right, and making sense once more?
I have seen time stop before.
Lines of poetry begin to surface in my mind as I watch them pouring my drink. It is almost ready. I reach out to take it, repeating the lines as they come at me, repeating them like a mantra I must hold onto tightly, before all concentration vanishes.
In the time it takes to grasp my steaming cup and cross the room, to pull out a paper and fish for a pen, time jolts forward, speeding up. I try to catch it, to catch up to the lines before they are yanked beyond my reach. My mind and breath click into gear, warming up, speeding up, following the words around and around.
I am torn, torn between the anticipation of the thick, sweet treat, and the desperate need to capture the poem.
I am not a patient person, not a person who can sit and wait. In the end, I sip my drink and try to hold the lines in my head as I pin their remnants to the page.
The slowing and speeding of time has distracted me. It is like an elastic band, mesmerizing in its movements. Unbalancing.
I sit, staring out of the window. Trance-like. The coffee dregs have gone cold, the poem is only partially written.
Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt, A Bend in Time: When you’re giddy with excitement, does time speed up? Slow down? Tell us about the experience of anticipation.
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