They sat together in the dimly lit room,
Two souls entwined in an invisible gloom.
The air grew thick, as the seconds stretched,
In a silence profound, their nerves were etched.

Eyes would flicker, searching for a place to land,
Fingers fidgeted, twisting a silver band.
A cough, a sigh, a shuffling of feet,
Echoed like thunder, in a silence discreet.

"Lovely weather," one finally said,
As the other nodded, wishing for words instead.
Their cups of tea, now lukewarm and still,
Matched the conversation, awkward and shrill.

Thoughts raced wildly, but words refused to stay,
Like skittish birds, they fluttered away.
A clock ticked loudly, in the corner it chimed,
Filling the void, with seconds unkind.

Minds would wander, then snap back in place,
Searching for cues, in the other's face.
An accidental glance, then quickly withdrawn,
Eyes meeting briefly, then back to the drawn.

Awkward silence, a dance so hard to bear,
Yet in its midst, a strange bond shared.
For sometimes in the quiet, without a word,
Connections are made, though nothing is heard.

In that fragile stillness, where time seemed to freeze,
They found a fleeting comfort, a strange, subtle ease.
Though silence hung heavy, like a cloud above,
In its awkward embrace, they discovered a kind of love.

In a quiet corner, an old man sat,
A pint of beer, a worn flat cap.
The crossword before him, ink-stained and neat,
A puzzle, a riddle, a mental feat.

His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose,
A furrowed brow, as his mind arose.
With every sip, a memory stirred,
Of days gone by, of stories unheard.

The pub around him buzzed and hummed,
But in his world, all was numbed.
The clinking glasses, the lunchtime cheer,
Muffled sounds, far yet near.

His pen hovered, a moment’s pause,
Lost in thoughts of forgotten cause.
A chuckle escaped, a clue made clear,
In that moment, time disappeared.

The crossword, a canvas of black and white,
A dance of words, a silent flight.
Each answer a piece of his history,
Each blank space, a whispered mystery.

In his solitude, he found delight,
In the simple joys, in the midday light.
A life well-lived, reflected in ink,
In the corner, he'd ponder, he'd think.

As the afternoon aged, the crowd thinned out,
The crossword completed, without a doubt.
The old man smiled, a gentle sigh,
Content and peaceful, he closed an eye.

In that quiet corner, he’d sit once more,
A pint of beer, a mind to explore.
For in the puzzles, he found his peace,
A tapestry of life, a sweet release.

"I know where I am going, and you can't follow me,"
She declared with a voice, resolute and free.
In the depths of her eyes, a storm had started,
While they stood at a crossroad, soon to be parted.

"Why do you think you can walk this path alone?
In your silence, my heart has already known,"
His voice trembled, his words etched in sorrow,
Yet in her resolve, she could not borrow.

"For this journey, my soul must fly unchained,
Where dreams and desires once faintly waned.
I’ve found a place where my spirit can soar,
Where life’s meaning blooms, as never before.”

"But why? Why must you leave me behind?
In our stories, our lives were intertwined.
The world we built with laughter and strife,
Am I not a part of your purpose and life?"

“It’s not you; it's the destiny I heed,
A call that whispers my heart’s deepest need.
To fields beyond, where stars gleam brighter,
Where burdens shed make souls so much lighter.”

Tears glistened on cheeks, hearts heavy with sorrow,
Two paths now split; no shared tomorrow.
“I love you,” she said with a pained plea,
“I know where I am going, and you can't follow me.”

With that, they turned, futures newly aligned,
Separate ways, with memories in mind.
A love not lost, but transformed in time,
A bittersweet end, in life’s tender rhyme.

I am sitting in a café,
On a rainy Saturday,
Watching people pass the window,
As they hurry on their way.

The barista's making coffee,
Steam is rising in the air,
I can hear the gentle chatter,
Of the patrons everywhere.

A couple's sharing secrets,
In a corner by the door,
While a student reads her textbook,
Sprawled across the table's floor.

The rain keeps softly falling,
On the pavement, on the street,
And the rhythm of the raindrops,
Matches footsteps of the feet.

I sip my cup of coffee,
Feeling warm and feeling fine,
In this little cozy café,
Where the world is left behind.

A man is reading headlines,
From a paper in his hand,
He frowns and sips his latte,
As he tries to understand.

A child is drawing pictures,
With crayons on a pad,
Her mother smiles beside her,
At the artwork she has had.

The door chime rings, a newcomer,
Shakes the raindrops from his coat,
He orders something warming,
And he clears his scratchy throat.

The café hums with life now,
As the morning turns to noon,
And the rain outside keeps falling,
To a gentle, soothing tune.

Once upon a time there was a tavern,
In the heart of town, where stories were woven.
With laughter, tears, and memories to share,
A barman stood, his smile ever so rare.

Behind the counter, he worked with grace,
A friendly face in that warm, cosy place.
With nimble hands, he poured and mixed,
A master of potions, full of tricks.

He knew each customer by name,
Their joys, their sorrows, their every aim.
With a listening ear and a heart of gold,
He turned the mundane into tales retold.

When evening came and the firelight dimmed,
The barman’s spirit never once thinned.
He shared a laugh, a joke, a knowing wink,
Making friends out of strangers with just one drink.

Through the bustle and the hum of chatter,
He moved with ease, never one to scatter.
A confidant, a guide, a friend so dear,
In the heart of the tavern, always near.

As nights grew late and the moonlight glowed,
The barman’s tales and warmth bestowed,
A sense of comfort, a place to unwind,
In that humble tavern, a treasure to find.