It's weird when this happens. I'm sitting in the back of Starbucks right now, near the bathrooms at a big lamp lit table. Across the table from me is a short lesbian with distracting body odor. She has been asking me for the time every fifteen minutes. She has been eating a red pomegranate as if it were an apple for over an hour. I'd tune her out with myPod. Plugged in. James Blunt full blast. "You're Beautiful." Microsoft Word up. Head down. Then, for no reason at all, I looked up and caught the eye of a tall auburn man. "I saw your face in a crowded place, and I don't know what to do" piped in. We stared for what felt like a minute but couldn't have been. "Cause I know I'll never be with you…" It was my ex-boyfriend from my freshman year of college. "Boyfriend" is a stretch. Friendboy is better. It was my first year of college. I'd met him on low library steps. I liked his waspy name and shoes. He looks the same now, full head of hair, just as I'd remembered, in a green roll-neck sweater. It didn't take me long to place him. I wonder if he knew he was looking at me, the woman who made him pesto over penne, the woman he'd used the words "commitment-phobic" with after holding my hand on the street. Seeing him as fast as that reminds me I've had a life so different than the one I have today. A life in a dorm where we stole bagels from the dining hall at 3am on Saturday evenings. I'm still not waking until 10am on most days; it still feels like college, where I can listen to music and roast things all day. Where I don't have any more "have to"s than the ones I make for myself. And with my days being the same, my life is very different. I don't prefer one to the other. I love both, my life then and now, in their compartments, all part of me. It's beautiful really.