The Tapping To Count

She poured herself a cup of coffee as she stared across the table to the seat across. There was no one there. The small dim room had somehow taken on greater significance as Rose had chosen this as her private location. The draping floral curtain, the white tea set and the table for two all positioned for maximum lighting; all seemingly affected only by the single entrance ahead.

Rose had sat here like this before. Crossed legs, leaning slightly to her right, watching shadows occasionally cross like silent words from behind the solid door. This was an oasis; a utopia-like expanse for Rose. It was a chance away from it all, a chance so priceless she looked all day for the time to leave; a time to walk through that door; a time to arrive here. Here shadows had no sound, and silence said it all; her tarring eyes and aching back rested as demands and errands were ceased. Here she could say her own name and smile when she thought about it. Here she could just exist.

She brought out her journal, and began to tap the edge of the table as she looked over her question template. There was a question there she had written on her view of herself in five years. Rose couldn’t recall writing that down; it was a hard question. She had answered this one before, but she saw no reason to do it again now.

Did it really matter if she would be successful either way? If others could do it too, what made her ideas so special? She had myriad of untouched goals, including a hair color she’d been thinking about for a year. Besides too many words written down now, too many things to laugh at later.

A phone rang a few meters away alerting Rose to the time.

“I am Rose, and this is my time to daydream. But what can I dream for?” She asked aloud.

Closing her journal, she took the last of her coffee and walked across the carpeted floor. She opened the door, ending her tea-break.

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