The Death of Me

‘Will that be all?’ She asked. Her eyes stealing a glance at the book open in front of me.
‘Oh, and a flat white would be great, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She gave me a wide smile before dancing back into the steam and heat of the kitchen. I just sat and stared after her. It’s funny sometimes, you can spend most of your twenties enjoying the quiet solitude life can offer for those who want to find it. Find a balance between connections, friendships, lovers, while all the while avoid getting caught up too deeply, ensnared in other people’s lives and business. Move along at the surface level of everything. I was the type who generally stayed around the periphery, looking in; watching, learning. I liked to think I made things happen that needed to happen, stopped things that shouldn’t be happening, and on top of all that, I liked to think I was exclusively a master of my own destiny. I smiled at the thought, and went back to my book.
This girl though, she was different. Not in any way that I could put my finger on, but just different. The way she looked at me and smiled, the way she walked, the way she had her hair; the way I’d been going back to this café now for three weeks in a row, and would come again next week; that kind of different. Special. And somehow I knew that this girl would be the death of me.

Image sourced from: http://stuff.mit.edu/afs/athena/activity/g/glb-coffee/cup.jpg