Writing

romanticising

In this crowded coffee shop, buzzing with the sounds of plates being set, chairs being scraped, chit-chat and laughter; sits i, hazelnut latte in hand.

I feel very serene in that moment, liquid courage slowly fuelling me up.

Suddenly the research that is piling up does not seem like the end of the world. Or rather, it does. I just feel prepared to battle it; war cry keen to escape my throat.

Walking by, is a boy dressed head to toe in black. Leather jacket and boots a shiny contrast against a black cotton t-shirt and black jeans. Holding a bag from a bakery, moving a hand from right, left, up and down without pausing pace.

There is an elderly lady in the table beside me, book open and coffee cup filled with only remains of a foamy drink.

Across from me, sits one of my friends; brows furrowed in concentration, hands gliding smoothly over keyboard keys. Every couple of minutes, insecurities play up and you hear whispers of:

“I’m not ready to be in charge of a patient!”

and

“oh my, what if I accidentally kill someone?”

But, I am prepared this time and make sure to lessen her worries. She will make a great nurse, I know it.

So we sit there, the cacophony of the cafe slowly being tuned out by the focus. I will finish what I can. With my own coffee cup now filled with remnants of what-once-was, my fingers stating fact after fact, explaining mechanisms of action and giving overviews of medications that maybe one day I will get to prescribe.

One day; in a cafe just like this one, I’ll sit and read this post.

I have a bit of a habit of romanticising things around me. I learnt my lesson with people, but I hope I never do with places and what-nots.

– S

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