I sit alone here at a coffee shop, just another cup, but I think I’ll stay this time, maybe two if you don’t mind, as your hands move quietly from the sink to the filter and start again. You say nothing as I sit at the window, with the light streaming in, a head filled with noise in an empty space. A quiet life seems like a distant place from here, but you show me something – a piece of paper, the house blend as you place my cup beside my anxious finger tips. I hope you didn’t notice – the biting of my lip, my awkward gratitude. You offer a service smile and walk back to the empty cups by the sink, pretending not to notice as I take a sip and sit beside myself, at the table by the window as someone else walks in and speaks of words I only keep in my mind, a language I lock away. I sit and kill the time.Links to blog posts on the Rohingya genocide are listed below. Please assist in any way you can.