B3. Questions Without Answers
Every time I pass the café, it becomes a small surprise, a wish arises that she might be there again, serving me her coffee, and once I see a braid in her hair color. I have hope until I’ve opened the door and it is someone else again, just like the times before. The coffee is quite good, but something is missing — she is missing, so that the light returns, the harmony, the order of a familiar moment, those moments when everything is in its place, the thoughts grow quiet and only the heart can feel its happiness.














