Because wondering too much might bring you to places you don't want to go.

to sit at the table by the window

and watch the people go by.

Then soak into the story in my hand

which paints a picture in my mind.

I'll have a coffee on the table

and it's not the regular black kind.

Then a stranger comes up,

and says: "Hey, can I join you?"

And he gestures to the empty seat facing me.

And I give him a benign smile and nod my head-

a simple, nonverbal answer.

So the stranger sits down and he opens his book and reads.

And I read too and not a word passes between us.

Externally, we may be two people sitting by the table

and people may wonder:

"How strange, did they fight?"

But no, in fact, we are more than happy.

Happy in our own little world of imagination

that the beloved author has created for us.

And so I reach Chapter V, where the girl meets the boy

and oh how lovely and unrealistic it is

that everything in the book just seems so easy for her.

To find her love, I mean.

I look up from my book in disgust,

and instead watch my stranger with keen curiosity.

I watch his eyes scan across the lines,

blinking only when necessarily.

His lips twitch occasionally,

and I realize he is reading a book with a sinister cover.

How interesting that my stranger

finds something so dark so humorous.

The more I watch my stranger, the more I take interest in the little things about him.

Amazingly enough, he is somehow oblivious to my stare,

and instead remains absorbed in his book.

Such an peculiar man, I think to myself.

But then I am forced to admit I enjoy the presence of strange people.

Finally, my stranger looks up

and he notices my rudeness and cracks a smile.

And he says: "I've got to go but it was nice meeting you."

And I nod like the silly school girl I am without uttering a single word.

And he says: "You don't talk much do you? Well I hope to see you again."

He leaves just like that and I watch him through the window.

And I sigh and a deep regret fills me,

and I wish and wish that I had said something.

Anything, anything! to start a conversation with my stranger.

And I notice a small scrap of paper on the table,

and on it were a line of numbers.

What nice tarts from the Queen of Heart.

- an excerpt from the mind of one not too far away.

Austen,

I s'ppose all I'll ever do is write short stories to you?

Ah, how I long to do something more...shall we say productive?

Now that I have loads of free time on my hand.

Your dear writer is on Chapter 6 of her novel!

There's still 23,000 words left to be added

to this painstaking task of accomplishment.

Can one go mental from not doing anything productive?

I find this terribly frustrating as I have all these thoughts

up in my jumbled mind

but no way as to rearrange them neatly into words

that you may understand me.

I leave you now with model dreams.

Yes, I still long for that. I do.

Farewell, my friend.

I'll see you soon.

Jam tarts and candy floss!

Just something to feed your brain, a bit.

How 'bout some mint candy with a chocolate center?

They taste much better than mint filled chocolates, they do.

Oh! How the ocean flows

against the large boulder rocks

Why do you keep me here?

I yearn to be set free!

I hide tender secrets

deep within me

of mythical creatures

with tails for legs

and tentacles- one, two and three

They drown me with incessant thoughts of

"Oh, I long to visit the land,"

Where they have skin instead of gills

and strange things such as hands

But I like it here, in this nice blue

where it's gloomy and cold

Be gone my child, I shall miss you so,

Oh! How the ocean flows.