You were sitting at my counter, scribbling pages upon pages upon a little lined yellow notepad, passionate words about Christ and freedom and some bible verse from John, perhaps?
I didn't get to read much of it at all, and I'm not sure I really would have felt it as intensely as you did, but I did attempt to read you, from the corner of my eye while stirring cream into a cup of coffee. You were looking down at your words, his words, and had your headphones in, probably listening to either 90s r&b; or Bon Iver, (pronounced by you exactly how it's spelled), and you smiled as you slipped your fingers into the tiny bag of chocolate covered espresso beans I offered to share with you.

The shop was empty but the room felt full with laughter as we shared stories of our high school selves and embarrassing traits and things we thought we loved long ago.

You turned an exhausting evening into endearing emotions.
In case I don't see you before you leave for your "missionary opportunities,"
Thank you.
Good luck in Florida.