stefanie says

Cafe dreams.

I spend an excessive amount of time every day staring at photographs like these, waiting and wishing for the day I will have such a place.

Mismatched tables and chairs. A mess, but an organized, beautiful mess. A menu (with silly and witty names for dishes that will make people giggle when they read them) scrawled on a chalkboard, among random quotes - freshly written every morning while I’m waiting for the muffins to bake - from books and songs and movies, quotes that tell people to love and be loved and to have hope above all things.

Floor to ceiling windows that let the sunlight stream in during the day, and lanterns and fairy lights at night so you can cosy up in a corner. A row of mason jars full of tempting, colourful, pretty things on the counter, pick as you wish (you might resist for a moment as you order “just a coffee” but eventually you will cave). Ice pops in summer. Tarts in winter. Special menus for special days - Valentines, Easter, International Nutella Day…

The girl in the corner who stays till closing time every night. The novel she brings in with her changes every other day. The old blue-collar worker named Mike (because Mike is the name I’d imagine and expect him to have) with the sad eyes who comes in for his morning coffee to go with his cigarette, and every day I will joke with him about when he plans to quit. The cute office worker who always gets a free upsize and extra marshmallows in his mocha cause the barista has a crush on him. The couple in love who huddle and whisper into each other’s ears in the corner booth and make everyone else want to be in love too. The group of girlfriends who come in every Tuesday night for their weekly catch-up over a cake baked specially for them. 

Quiet when it needs to be. Bustling when you need the noise to drown out your conversation full of both sad and happy secrets that you’re telling your best friend. A view of the sunrise as I empty small change into your hand. Standing as a silhouette in the sunset as I take out the trash. 

The feeling of comfort and of being taken of (the same feeling that you get when you’re served breakfast in bed or when your mom makes you chicken soup when you’re sick). The feeling of being known by name the moment you walk in. The feeling of having your favourite item again and again and never getting sick of it.

At the moment, this remains a pipe dream, made impossible by being too young and too inexperienced and too poor (mostly too poor) and perhaps a tad too idealistic. It is hard to balance out: My desire to have a job that, when asked to be described, can be simply said as “to make other people smile”, versus the reality of being able to pay for things like cars and mortgages and future children and current food and clothes and rent.

But for now, I will keep dreaming. I will continue to spend (waste?) precious minutes and hours sighing at pictures like these, saving recipes and menus and photographs, and dreaming up a space where people will feel blessed.

One day I will have this all.

(via teacoffeebooks)