my stranger.

i have dreamt of many faces,
but yours isn't among them.
so many strangers.
where are my friends?
i never know what to do with strangers.
they are so distant
but have no problem bumping into me,
accidentally holding my hand
or stepping on my toes,
sincerely apologizing, but quickly forgetting their misdeed,
paying attention to another stranger--
their friend, not me--
i'm no friend of theirs.

i have dreamt of many faces,
but yours isn't among them.
is that my fault?
do i only pretend to know you?
oh, but you're not a stranger!
does that make you my friend?

your acquaintanceship hurts.

i much prefer your strangeness:
to feel free to wonder about your life,
imagine what your struggles might be
never to worry that i might be one of them;
to sincerely apologize for stepping on your toe but quickly to forget my misdeed.

feigning distance hurts much more than actual distance.

i have no reason to reach out to strangers--
i wish i didn't want to reach out to you.

my stranger?
my friend?
acquaintance.

i have dreamt of many faces,
but yours isn't among them.

you must be standing behind me, then,
waiting to surprise me.

i'll practice my 'surprise' reaction for you.