Young Writers Project: 'Dublin'

Seagulls cry for the ocean,
wings flapping,
bodies soaring
through the smoky,
salty air.
A rare bit of sunlight
bursts through the windows,
spilling
like a stream
and flooding its banks.
My pen
is tapping on the coffee cup,
cutting through the
distant voices
of the cafe
and the silence of our table.
I’ve never felt
lonely like this before,
here in a room full of
half-strangers.
I remember
that I chose to be here.
My stomach is
a pit of nerves
and my head is pounding.
A single thought
reverberates –
maybe this was a mistake.
But as I panic,
the flowers in the window box
drift lazily in the breeze.
The sun shines.
The world
isn’t on fire.
And I know
it’s not a mistake.