Someone Like You(Nikki Risbeck) Autumn rain caresses the New York streets as I sprint to the small coffee shop where we first met. The beautiful downpour dampens the sidewalk to a faint gray with puddles bearing the reflections of bright lights and rush-hour traffic. My leather boots echo against the slick concrete as I approach the famous “Beans & Brews”.

I shake out my long, auburn hair and open the metallic door. The bitter aroma of coffee pollutes the air. I inhale deeply; reminding myself of all those mornings you sipped your coffee quietly, grinning at my wrinkled nose each time you offered me a taste.

I run my slender fingers against the course brick, our memories chiseled into every laceration in the wall. I had always found the walls of Beans & Brew to be of unique brilliance. It was a graffiti masterpiece with signatures of profuse customers invading every scarlet and cinnamon brick. Written in large, neon cursive is our names. Longing fills me as I stare at the mess of scribbles.

I fix myself at the mahogany table you so charmingly invaded four years prior. I scan the café, my eyes settling on a young girl holding her mother’s hand, clutching a porcelain cup of hot chocolate close to her chest. She glances at me; her smile like a crescent moon, dimples invading her coral cheeks. Her irises are like a blanket of sapphires with smudges of gray tinting the blue like midnight stars. Her hair cascades down her back in a waterfall of tousled, golden curls, sashaying as she scans the crowd.

For a second, I am convinced that she is your sister, Jill. I relinquish the thought as I remember Jill is much older now. She is no longer the bubbly five-year-old who we spent so many summer days with frolicking through the park until sunset flickered over the horizon.

Your face saunters into my mind, wielding my psyche into recalling every feature. Your eyes were dazzling; an eerie hybrid of cobalt and charcoal intertwining with a faint glimmer of aquamarine. Your hair was a chaos of thick, hazel ringlets that you wore short for the burden of taming the stubborn curls. Ginger freckles dusted your bleached flesh, giving the illusion of sun-kissed skin.

It is not until you approach your wife and daughter that every venerable flashback implodes. You peer at me, tilting your head to the side in reminiscence. A smile plays on your lips as recognition transpires within. You walk to me, your feet gliding across the timber floor delicately. “Dinah,” You say, soft and sweet like twilight caressing daybreak. “It’s good to see you.”

I author a smile, creating a phantasm of happiness. You part as fast as you arrive, uttering apologies of your daughter’s ballet class. Your lips brush my cheek, whispering good bye. I watch as you swing your daughter onto your back, her giggles echoing throughout the shop. My eyes follow your departure until you are nothing but a shadow of the past, a beautiful ghost of our extinct romance.

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