Tuesday, September 3, 2025

To the girl at the cafe who gave me more hot water: I wonder if you recognize me, if you remember seeing me here before, if I am connected with an old pain, like how in the far back of my mind I wondered if you would be here today.

When I was ordering and you looked over from where you were working, what did I feel? I shall be ashamed to have written this; I already am, a little. But where is shame in desire for love? Where is shame in attraction? I am lonely. Are you lonely? I wonder what is your story. If I had to guess, I would’ve thought you’d be back to school by now. But you are still here. Do you wonder what you are doing with your life? Do you go home after work and feel the weight?

I wanted to make eye contact, but you kept your eyes down. Am I someone to avoid, to watch out for? Surely I should be; even so, it hurts for it to be so, and I grieve the fallen state of human nature which requires your caution.

Or, are you ashamed? Do you feel like you are not beautiful enough? Are you self-conscious and afraid? Are we two human beings hurting and kept isolated by our pain? Are we two human beings, capable of touching one another but kept apart by our hurt? Are we two human beings stealing looks when the other is not looking, wondering while the other is wondering, longing for greater communion but kept isolated by the wounds from which we bleed? Are we two human beings mutually pure, mutually longing – mutually silent – because of fear?

This is what I have to do. This is what I must accept. The weight of longing. I have to look at it, and not look away. I have to embrace it, and carry it on my way. In this way I can make my suffering beautiful and worthwhile. And hopefully I can stop twisting myself into unnatural shapes trying to escape from this thing which I often leave lurking in the shadows.

So, farewell, pretty lady. I’ll steal a last glance at you, and I hope I will see you again next time I come. Maybe then I will learn your name.

William Matthews is an aspiring man of God, deeply committed to self-reflection and the pursuit of a meaningful life. His days are spent working at a homeless shelter, offering compassion to those in need, while his heart is set on the quiet devotion of monastic life. Writing, for him, is not about ambition or recognition. It is a practice of honesty, a way to process the world and his place within it. Through his words, he seeks understanding, grappling with faith, purpose, and the depths of human experience.