How I miss sitting at the Uyghur restaurant all by myself,
Devouring the spicy noodles
Or sipping on Turkish tea
With lots of sugar,
Listening songs so foreign yet so familiar
Looking idly through the glass,
Watching kids laughing
Men, women minding their business,
And the tempting smell of food i didnt order
To bring me back to reality and regret,
And to people sitting around,
Black, white, beige, brown
How we felt so home
Being only tables apart
Those broken overheard words, slipped smiles or strange silence
How they means so much now
Now they have all gone
Through the thin air
And only memories left to share.

-18.04.20