Love More: Stranger

"Stop falling in love with stranger!" says Marjorie half-frustrated into the reaction of abrupt phone call in the midst of windy Wednesday afternoon. "But you should have seen him." I said in my defense as my heart was overflowed with emotions like water running over the crystal glass. But I swear, that barista is made out of poetry.

I first noticed him on the first day I had to leave the house early to mermaid-logo coffee due to the loud construction works in front of my building that caused my head to spin far too early in the morning. I was waiting for my iced mocha latte at the end of the counter. There were three new trainees in their white blouse trying to fitting themselves with the coffee maker and all on their first day of work. He came just after putting on his green apron and tied it at the back. He seemed that he just started his shift as manager when the other older lady handed him to the trainees, 'Girls, this is Keats.' I could not help to smirk as if it was part of a scene in a film where the hero just entered the room and the girls looked slightly smitten as he smiled and waved an introductory hi. He has funny name, I thought. As I read his chalkboard name tag on his chest. Keats, It is not Keith — like that English poet, John Keats.

On the second day, I saw him walking by the table where I sat next to the window without his apron on as I recognized his chestnut-colored curly hair. My eyes was glued to him as he went outside to sit on a concrete block, he had his lunch break with a pack of cigarette and a book. Our glances met - brief, like a thunder and I was the ground. I immediately looked away, but just to find out that less than five seconds after, I was back at him. He looked better under the sun - his skin melts and his hair gleams. He just lit his cigarette, putting the metaphor into life. While reading a book on his other hand. Then between the empty seconds, he ran his fingers onto his hair, pushing it back formed the curls of his muddy-blonde hair into a perfect mess.

That's when I had to call Marjorie, when I thought I might have fallen in love with a complete stranger I met at the coffee shop on a Wednesday afternoon. Because falling in love with stranger is safe, like an actual love should feel. And perfect, because it will always stays as an idea, like a full moon on one clear summer's night. Because I am falling in love alone, without the fear of broken heart, out of the reach of brutal reality. I repeated with a voice full of hope of the opposite, "But you should have seen him." hoping that actually I'm not falling in love alone.