Do you know, that I used to think about this place all the time? This spot right by the 

fogged glass

here. In my imaginations it's always 

winter

or late 

autumn

. It's definitely not warm. I'm waiting for someone. That person I'm waiting for is not always the same. But did you know. That sometimes it was you?

No. That's not surprising now that you tell me. But I'm still. Surprised. It's strange but the entire time these past few years I never imagined you would ever think of me.

I think that's a part of growing old. We continue to think about some people in our past. But a lot of them fall off our thoughts. And we don't ever want to assume that we are one of the few that remain in the others' mind. So we do that thing. 

pretending to sing poorly

so that we don't have to feel bad about not being one of the few. When it's okay. Because if you think about the people we no longer think about--

We don't think anything bad about them!

Exactly. They are just irrelevant now. Not in a bad way. Just matter of fact. They no longer matter.

But that sounds so bad. But it doesn't sound bad when you say it.

A lot of language is just associations that have been formed in 

culture

and have persisted because... because of where we keep seeing them happen. But yes. That fogged glass. The 

cafe

. I'll be here. Why? I'll be 'waiting' here... for what? I'll be waiting.. for you... so if you come here... you'll find me.