I imagine sitting at the bookstore café with my headphones in. So immersed in my writing that you appear behind me and I don’t notice.

You found me here, you knew this was where I’d be. It’s 108 degrees outside and you knew I’d find some place cool where I could set up and dive into my work. You’re standing behind me for a few minutes.

You’re watching me, reading over my shoulder as I write. About you. You lean in closer to see better and you inhale my scent. I still don’t notice but in my mind’s eye I see your inhale bringing every night we spent together forward to this moment.

You lean closer in and I start to FEEL you as I type. The thing is, I always feel you. So I ignore it , thinking it’s just another memory wanting to make the past the present. I continue to write you out of my system.

You lean closer, this time too close. You always loved my skin- how it smelled, how it felt. You told me every time you touched me. I jump.

You step back. I stand up.

Hi, you say.

Hi.

Neither of us say anything more for a long moment. It’s been 6 months without a single other word.

What are you doing here? I break the silence.

I come here all the time, is your response. I know you’re lying and you smile.

I smile back. Two grinning fools.

I imagine you find me. That you’re looking for me.

But imagination is just for bookstore cafes.

Maybe that’s why I come here- here is where I meet you in my daydreams.