Coffee-shop vampire
Moving, getting a new home in a new town with new people everywhere, is difficult and troublesome for anyone. No matter how normal and put together your life is. No matter how stable and well presented you are. Moving sucks. Especially when it wasn't your own choice, but a necessity. Moving sucks even more for those who struggle to make new connections and don't enjoy the normalized consepts of what ”having a social life” usually means. The introverts, the neurodivergent, the outcasts. We had to move, not because we wanted it, although we did want it on some level, but simply because it was time. Time to move on, move forward. A constant travel, through the passing of time. If the world changes, people will eventually notice the things that don't, and things that cannot change, will be forgotten or disliked. We had to move, and we wanted to. After having spend a long time in the same place, it is natural to become somewhat restless. While we are both creatures of habit, people who like things somewhat predictable, being able to traverse the whole town with your eyes closed makes it... dull. Just because you prefer your own company over strangers, and your own home over bars and night clubs, doesn't mean you can't ever long for an adventure. And every time one of us starts longing, we start planning. Yes, it can be an adventure, even with every detail planned out. It's an adventure to see new places, walk new streets, hear new birds sing at the crack of dawn...our new place was small, cozy but bright. Un-noteworthy, just the way we like it. Plain in the eyes of most others, perfect for us. The town surrounding it was exactly the same. While finding new friends is very difficult in a place that has no bars, museums or even restaurants is difficult, sometimes you get lucky. It's that luck we put our faith in, as a town with no nightlife seems very bare to those who can only go out after dark. But none the less, we do. We walk, with quiet conversation, taking in the streets and buildings and back-roads of our new hometown. So small and quaint. So quite. It's just us walking. There’s a man on his porch smoking his midnight cigarette. There is a teen waiting by a gate, maybe for a friend, maybe for a ride home. The birds are all asleep. The ducks floating aimlessly in the inky black pond. I note the obvious lack of bats. In fact, for a small town surrounded by thick forest, there is a distinct lack of any nocturnal animals. I wonder why, and think maybe, maybe we are not alone. Maybe we are not the first. I shrug it off and point out the silence. His hand in mine he nods slowly. It's too peaceful to be bothersome, he states, and I agree. We walk. Explore the town, every night we can. We see patterns. The same people, doing the same things, much like us. The rhythm of human life, the habits that never die. What do you do, if the night is all you have, but nigh-life doesn't suit you? When everyone is asleep, it is hard to meet new people. When all the cafés are closed and all the lights are off? We walk, and we dream. Dream of having coffee with our friends like we used to, dream of pick-nicks in the sun. Dream of all the people we can never meet. The people who get to go to the coffee shops, by their lunch at the bakery, find each other. We dream without regrets, of all the things people get to do, because they are, unlike us, just people...
