Letter of Memory

         I came to this coffee shop to do long overdue work on some of the fundamental tasks I came to this godforsaken place to learn. I think I had some idea that it would not be fruitful. I've been sensing that foggy, slightly disconnected feeling. You know how I get when I have to retreat to those places within to try to harvest my soul of the ripe combinations of words that will get me in touch with whatever emotions have been misting around in my brain.
         Honestly, I really wanted to be societally-defined productive. Lord knows I've spent enough time away from externally imposed standards lately. But I came here, and even though it looks nothing like the caffeine pusher's place back home where I took you on your visit, I got this flashback image that demanded attention.
         I was sitting across from you, hands sticky from spilled Heath Bar latte with whipped cream and nose stinging with the smell of cigarette smoke. Our ears occasionally tuned in to tidbits and fragments of several odd and random conversations. My eyes could not stop studying how yours can still have so much color when the night of the world, and your pupils, is trying to take over. Those "extra" senses that you and I are still puzzled by were all lit up and crazy, powered by soul mate lightening.
         Maybe it is the color of the cherry wood chairs that all my stuff is strewed on that kicked in this reverie. They do match the sweater that I wore that night. Maybe it is that on a whim, I wanted to enjoy my whipped cream with a straw this evening, which sparked me to recall that I heisted sweet coffee topping from your cup with a straw that night.
         I can still feel the tugging at that small spot in my chest behind my heart left over from when I felt like our centers were magnets and mine would leap across the wobbly Formica table and permanently lodge against yours. No, wrong metaphor, for a second it felt right, but nothing about you is ever as forceful as that. It was more like you were extending whispy, oozing tendrils of tangible energy, wrapping them around my essence, teasing out the quiet that so rarely dominates my being. *Chuckle* I guess that quiet is in charge tonight.
         Funny, I thought this evening's avoidance of reality would manifest in poetry as it usually does when my pen, not my to-do list, is in control. I haven't written like this in years. It's comforting, though slightly eerie, that I'll read this to you when I call you tonight and there stands a good chance that a part of you will smile with the familiarity of the words, not because you are remembering the other coffee shop scene where part of my mind was just now, but because you were here with the rest of me, reading over my shoulder.