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She walks barefoot, holding the corners of her white dress.
Rushing into the crowd, the girl says "Good Bye."
The passengers whisper to each other, her skirt is stained by mud.
The person that she was waiting for didn't come. Nobody came, "Good Night."
The subway came roaring, lively yet lonely.
Station after station, she says "Good Bye."
Her eyes are sweating; she wipes it with the back of her hands.
Time passes too quickly, the clock ticks too slowly.
Loved or not it does not matter, we always end up with "Good Bye."
In the Moonless night, she keeps herself warm with her dream.
Dear Peter Pan, please tell her "Good Night."
Only after a few scars on her knees she will learn to regret.
A grown-up little girl waves her hand, say "Good bye."
Sometime she cries, but she does not want to step aside.
Happy, Sad, Confused, Crazy,
Lowly, Broken, Strong and Courageous.
Those are all the feelings she experienced.
Horrible, Different, Mistaken and Hurt.
She loves every part of her personality.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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