I’m sitting alone in a coffee shop and I feel true happiness, or whatever I can grasp of the definition. I find it hard to rely on other people when I’m feeling sad, because nobody but myself can fill me with the exhilaration or bring a smile to my face like I can.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and I’ve driven to Detroit in search of this happiness, because I can’t find it under the rocks or in the nooks of my hometown. I seem to only find it in the hustle of downtown and within the corners and windows of coffee shops. I’m drinking coffee from Rwanda out of a glass beaker while listening to the strum of a guitar and I found joy.

I wish I could explain this feeling in a simpler way, but then it wouldn’t be the same for me. This private experience which always lifts my spirits above the tall buildings and out of the dark alleys is something I will always have, and I hope one day I will be able to share it with someone who can see the magic which I see in the baking concrete as my feet move across it to wherever that day’s destination may be. I must leave this escape for work later, but until then the world outside of the streets I will walk ceases to exist.

I won’t leave my footprints on the dusty sidewalks or in the grass of the park at the center, but my spirit will remain in the city which I love. This place continues to evolve and grow through the work of individuals who believe and see it as I do, and it warms my heart like the sun warms my cheeks as I walk into my trusty shop.

That’s all for now as my mug has runneth dry, but rest assured there is always a piece of me which I leave here, waiting.