Train Tracks of Self-Love

Centred in Atlanta, Georgia in the Northern tip of Emory is my favorite study space: Kaldi’s. Light trickles into this cafe — a harbinger that used to be a train station for utilities back in the 80s. It is now my harbinger where I come almost every night to write my essays, thought papers, read Latin, or cram for a German midterm. Here is the place that allows me to become a thoughtful chef of word concoctions and cocktails. And here, I am alone. Here I see friends come and go, grabbing coffee or late night meals. However, I am able to to sit still and be one with my thoughts and my studies. Here is my place to cook my literature that feeds my soul. I love this place the most when night falls: every hour a train will pass, blaring its whistle and shaking the grounds. But, last night, the train shook my heart.

: the train shook my heart, faith in God’s love. It shook my faith in friends.

“Don’t put your trust in man”, they’ll say.

“I know.” I reply.

***

“Do you want to get coffee?”

Last night, I was sitting and getting coffee with someone I cared for.

The train came, and we sat there in silence. Our conversation broke into a long hiatus of long breaths, and I realized that I wasn’t ready to start a relationship. Not with him. Not with anyone just yet.

I told him I was sorry. He left.