Romance In A Column

chapter eleven,

    The thing about happiness is that, as far as Eryn Sallow is concern, it entails an expiration date.

    Since little, people are fed the bitter line of 'nothing lasts forever' because the truth is an easier pill to swallow if done early. Then again, while it might prove useful and sometimes even hopeful, it is also to blame for humans forcefully making their happiness ephemeral.

    It creates an awareness towards the deadline and the ticking clock of life, such to a point it all begins to feel as if one is running on stolen time. In a romantic scenario, every kiss feels as if it isn't one's to enjoy. Every hug from a loved one isn't one's to savor—so they don't.

    It's an ill-striking realization that whatever may be the source of a person's happiness, will eventually be stripped from their hands or of its beauty. And this, is responsible for tainting each moment, soon to become a memory, with splotches of fear that whomever is universally responsible for happiness will come to take what rightfully belongs to them.

    It becomes a fixation, you see. An illustration of this, a metaphor of sorts, could be witnessing that which you love being held by two ropes on either side. And the necessity to maintain one's grip firm around a rope leads the person to focus all of their energy on their hands as they slowly grow callous. Unable to realize the counterpart isn't even being tugged, but once it is, no matter one's strength, it's to be stolen from their grasp—and not once did they truly enjoy what they were reluctant to let go of.

    Don't be mistaken; not all people are like this. But Eryn, for one, is. And to resist the human urge to knit pick the pieces that constitute to her cheery mood, she rolls the chord of her earphones between her lips.

    The man before her steps forward as the cashier smiles at the man donned in a Yankees cap before he moves along to the pick-up section, and with a short step, Eryn follows the movement of the crowd.

    At first glance, many are warned their visit to A Cup Of Love wouldn't be a brief one. A twelve person line has steered a few to turn on their heels, letting the crystal door to fall shut behind them as they Google Map the closest, considerably less tasty, chain coffee store.

    And in other circumstances, Eryn would've been one of the masses following along to the shop further down the block to buy the design team & co's orders, using lack of time where lack of disposition is to blame. But, today, neither the excuse nor the truth could deter her away.

    And possibly, the residual endorphins pumping through her bloodstream from the interviews is the reason behind her disposition to waste an approximate half an hour for seven hot beverages (eight if one is counting her own).

    Due to the photoshoot for Callan's article, her schedule is softer than usually. Whilst her morning was spent transcribing the Boston Celtics' interviews, the entirety of her afternoon will constitute on leaning back into her chair possibly besides Deniz and, hopefully, in Wren's company while Callan is photographed and stylized.

    But while they waited for the man of the hour's arrival, Eryn had to complete the single, measly task.

    The entrance of a new customer is announced by the bell above the door, but, in the midst of the conversations happening between patrons seating on the white, iron chairs—being congruent with the garden-like theme of the coffee shop—and Tatum Moe's podcast speaking softly into her ear, the chime isn't registered by Eryn.

    The elderly man who had spared her a smile once she formed behind him pays for his order, rapping his knuckles twice onto the wooden counter in an odd form of goodbye towards the cashier as he moves along.