New York was a big city for tourism, but small for acquaintances. Not literally, but you always ended up running into someone you knew on the busy streets.

The day was cloudy, the kind that evokes melancholy and poetry. At night, the wind whistled against the coats of people passing by on the sidewalk.

You entered the small bar where you now worked. Things got tight when your college tuition went up, and you had to find something for the evening.

As you put on your apron behind the bar as usual, you didn't even bother to look up at the stage.

Until, a harmonium sound. Very recognizable, very disturbing.

Eyes lifting, Jeff was in front of the microphone.

Your previous relationship wasn't a trauma, far from it. It was calm, serene, the kind that makes you wonder, 'Why did it end?'

There were no fights; in fact, he never stood up or responded to your angry moments. He was always... too perfect; that was the problem.

You kept your back to him as he sang, that song so recognizable to your ears, the one you used to hum while waiting for him to leave the studio.

When the last ‘Cause It's not too late’ echoed through the bar, a series of moments ran through your mind, ones you missed so deeply.

"Could I get a glass of water, please?" That sweet, sentimental voice from across the counter.

He recognized you, of course he would.

"On the rocks." He smiled slightly, his dark eyes now shining with the same passion as always.

Too perfect. Too right.

"I didn't think you'd work here." He tried to make conversation, which could ruin every afternoon, building barriers between you, to forget, to move on, on that crooked and uneven path.

Jeff was nervous; he hated feeling too much, but he loved falling for you.

Over and over and over. In every life.

Silence.

"I've been writing other songs, I missed your opinion."

You knew what it meant. He'd been writing songs about you.

Was he just being mean, or was he trying to reminisce?

No. He wasn't mean, but he missed you.