Those were the days, when he spooked Spring Street while I was hushing and rushing on Prince Street, never not startled when I turned the corner and someone that was not him stopped my moving in full speed. I couldn’t know, for I had never met him. But he was there, right where I was. He could have walked next to me and I would have never noticed…

My fingers ran over the distinctive material of the old fashioned pages of the Notebook I had just bought in the little thrift store on the corner of here and nowhere. The rutted sheets were torn and no matter how dark the ink, each and every syllable I wrote turned out pale and felt ageless. There was Hot Chocolate on the counter by my side, with no more heat evaporating into the air. This writing-it-all-down Therapy already had its flaws I realized. But I liked the feeling of cracked pages under my fingertips, the feeling of a pen in my hand, making my fingers draw words from memory that wouldn’t be out there otherwise. The choice of this cafe instead of the other felt just like any other choice I’ve made so far. Choosing meant destroying the other possibility therefore was something I never felt comfortable doing. But there were choices that felt simpler than others and which I definitely made more frequently and quickly above all. So was choosing this area South of Houston. It felt natural being here, felt right. But honestly, how sure could I really ever be of these kind of things?!