one of the many marvelous things about london that charlotte had come to appreciate over time was the amount of coffee and tea shops littered across the city. some were more commercial and widespread, some were hole in the walls, and some were genuinely interesting. one of charlotte’s favorite places was a little shop that overlooked a detailed statue of some queen or another. she’d just settled down at a table near a window, a hot cup of spiced apple juice in her hands, when she caught sight of a little beat up notebook lying on the floor. she leaned down and picked it up, flipping to the front page to see if there was a name or anything, and then she browsed the pages mindlessly. poetry. she settled on one page to read, and soon the light-hearted happiness she’d been feeling was replaced by heartbreak and astonishment. her soul ached for the poet, the visualization of the situation being described clear and painful in her mind.
@pcrcys
