Folded thought of the day:

Just in case, should the situation ever present itself, 
if our paths cross, then I'd like to invite you to join 
me for a cup of coffee, where we'll sit and talk for hours 
about days of playing "Kick the Can" and the difficulties 
of finding a moment when the world makes sense... of the 
fear that creeps up on you in the middle of the night, 
when you're the most alone and vulnerable... of singing 
carols in some pick-up choir on a cold December night 
and swearing you'd do it every year but you never managed 
to pull it off.  Even though you meant to.  

We'll laugh at how weird and uncomfortable it is to talk 
with a stranger, and how good it feels to be weird and 
uncomfortable.  

And we'll talk about authors and musicians and people we 
look up to.  You'll tell me stories and maybe a secret 
or two.  Cause you know I'll never tell anybody.  And 
I'll do the same.  

You'll show me a picture of a loved one but I won't have 
one on me to show you.  Maybe I'll draw you a picture of 
somebody I care about.  

And it will get late but I won't mind.  And I hope you 
won't either. 

We'll destroy the first impressions we had of each other.  
We'll disagree and maybe get mad at each other.  Then we'll 
sit back and laugh.  

And the waitress will wonder if we're ever going to leave.  
So we'll have to order some pie or ice cream or maybe both.  

The place will be filled with travelers and truck drivers 
and wayward souls.  Some alone and some together.  Some 
will look like they've lost hope, others just like they've 
temporarily misplaced it.  Perhaps we'd invite one of them 
to join us.  And more would follow. The more the merrier.  
Cause once you start, it's hard to stop.  

And the fog would roll in, or maybe a good thunderstorm.  
So we'd have to stay.  As the darkness thickens the lights 
of the place would seem brighter.  Smells of old leather 
and tobacco and food and burned coffee would fill the air.  

Someone would start telling stories about a legendary figure 
in these parts.  And someone else would pipe in with an 
anecdote they'd heard or a memory of their own.  

And sooner or later, the whole place would be singing a 
campfire song.  We'd be way off key but it would sound great.  

Time would pass.  And we'd wind up fighting over the check.  
But we'd work it out.  

Then we'd say good-night and make plans to meet again.  And 
we'd both wonder if we'd really keep them.  Even though 
we meant to.