Thoughts

So I had a thought.

It's a few years in the future. I'm having coffee at some café I go to usually on the weekend when it isn't raining. I enjoy it because I'm within walking distance from where I work so knowing that I could be at work at this moment instead of people-watching gives me some form of peace. It's sunny but the heat doesn't feel like burning the roof of your mouth but more of like if a giant had put me in the pocket of his flannel shirt.
I'm looking at a young couple struggle to synchronize their footsteps when a man, probably the same age as me, walks up to me with a camera and asks if he can sit down to ask me a question.
He looks fairly sure of himself. He dresses like his sense of style for the day was a mix between "I'm feeling good today" and "I have regrets"

"Everyone has a story. Not everyone has the time to listen. I would like to exchange my time for your story and a picture. I'll pay for another if you want." He says as he points to my now empty cup of coffee.

"I'll pay for the both of us and I'll stop talking when your cup is empty" I reply.

"What would you like to share?"

"I haven't the slightest clue where to begin. The very beginning would be a good choice but I feel like if I were to tell you a story, attention to detail would be important and starting from my first memories seems like a tedious thing to do. I could tell you about the best years of my life or I could tell you the worst. I could tell you how much I've changed over the years and what changed me or I could tell you what I'd like to become. I could tell you about my love and hatred of society. I could tell you about love and hate in itself. I could tell you how calling myself an 'open-minded' person would lead me to be more ignorant than I thought I could be. I could tell you about the people I know or I could tell you about the people I knew or I could tell you about the people I regret not knowing. I could tell you about many things-"

Something stops me from letting the man finish his cup of coffee.
Something stops me from telling these stories instead I just label events in my life like chapters to an unfinished book.
My train of thought ends there. Always.

I can't imagine how I would talk about the present as the past of my future self, I can't even talk about the past as my present self.