alone and happy as fuck

I'm not going to think about it.
Think about what?
Him...it...NOT thinking about it.
Him with her?
I'm not thinking about it.

A German man is sharing my table. Please don't talk to me. I don't mean to be rude but I came here to be alone. To think thoughts you can't think around others. I begin to think a thought and I edit myself. You are alone, Gemma. Alone in this continent, alone in this country, alone in this city, alone in this Starbucks - except for the man sitting at your table - alone in your mind. You are free. Free to think whatever you please. I need to get out of my head. Stay in my head but think about things other than in my own head.

This is my second time in two days at this Starbucks. Writing. I write so much. Hundreds of thousands of words. Would anyone read it? How can I turn my words into a story? Into content others will enjoy? I write for myself but I want to learn how to write for others. About others.

I'm writing a story/play/script about 4 girls that live together. Their names are Essie, Blake, Amy and Mia. I will write a monologue for each of them perhaps.

There are so many spare seats at this cafe. Why is he sitting with me? I'm not approachable. I wonder if he wants to talk to me? Why do so many middle aged men want to talk to me? Why do so little 20 year old men want to talk to me? Why is everyone in relationships? We are so young? Maybe they are happier than me? I'm pretty happy though. Maybe I'm jealous? Maybe I'm still subconsciously in love with my ex boyfriend and therefore cannot find comfort in others. Maybe that's the case. That is the case. I'm a little lonely perhaps. No, I don't think I am. I've never been a cliché before now. I am. I hate it. but the fact that I hate it is what makes me a cliché. A hipster. Dammit. I'm happy though. I'm so content. I'm in love with my friends. I'm safe. I have nothing to complain about. Except Australia Day. Australia Day makes me sick. Change the flag, fuckers.