this stranger, i see him sometimes, and he makes me stop to think and float in the moisture of leftover dew. that solitary lunchtime at the stairs, accidental encounters in the food queue or under the zinc roofs at the carpark, and around the corridors with the half-full vending machines. i see him sometimes, but i see him always, always with those darling eyes. with each passing encounter he promises so much yet delivers so little that i will surely be coming back for more.
i feel like we would do so well just walking, to a faraway point where the roads dip into a valley or just watching the sun’s ascension together, our clavicles awash in the first blush of dawn, just marvelling and marvelling until the heat picks us off our places in the grass.