By Shy Violet The cafe bustled with conversation, as the people filled it up. The voices bouncing from wall to wall, laughter resounding. The notes of their chords seemed to rise and fall simultaneously, sometimes urgent, sometimes calm. The lull of this sound droning on in the background. Many languages were being spoken. Occasionally, bits and pieces of conversations would pronounce themselves. But quickly die down again, keeping with the murmuring. Things too serious to be uttered lined some faces, and all hearts.
I sat in the back corner, watching them all. They did not see me, or acknowledge my presence. To them I was just a mere annoyance. They had seen me once or twice passing by, but I was always shoed away. I could never get close enough to whisper in their ear the things that I had heard. Never would they let me, never would they listen. They would rather chase after me with rolled up pieces of paper. Here I sit, a fly on the wall.
