6.29.2023 - Intimate Strangers

6.29.2023
Intimate Strangers

When you say that I don't know you,
I don't believe I ever did.
Not twenty years ago, not now, not then.
Never knew the you that struggled.
Never met the person who wrestled,
At three AM with their darkness,
Or the private doubts, secret joys, sincerest hope.
I was too overwhelmed with youth.
Too tied up in my own midnight to shine a light into yours.
Even if you wanted that.
Although, I cannot recall you pulling me close.
And you left for greener pastures,
So, who am I to you?
Not a face in the crowd.
No fond reflection or moments pause.
Then why am I bound,
Relentlessly driven to circle,
To pace outside shuttered windows,
Wondering about the rooms within?
Why do I always return to this voyeuristic fascination?
Rubbing at your absence like a worn rosary,
A worry stone of pale grief,
Wrung nearly clean of color,
Under ages of wear.
The records of songs echoing forever,
Down the decades we share in isolation,
Intimate strangers, we never see the eyes of the other.
We were young together,
Until we weren't.
Not young and not connected.
And yet,
And yet,
On you, I linger.
Longing to be let in.
Aching to escape this orbit.
Paralyzed by the poignant dream.
Sleeping alone next to you,
I still dream of you.
The you that I never.
I never got to meet.