I had a dream last night. You and I were standing on the sidewalk facing each other. Cars bustled by and pedestrians went their ways. The windows were open and flowers were blooming. A lady shook out clean white down pillows, whistling a children’s song all along. The postman delivered notes of love and adoration, of missing and adventures. The sign of the buss top gleamed in the soft porcelain rays of sun. We were friends and talked like friends. The bus brushed over concrete towards us. A flock of sheep squeezing through the gate, curs brushing against curls, giving way and taking way. It halted before us. The doors opened with a soft exhale. we got on the bus and didn’t know each other. Didn’t look at each other. Sat through the bus ride as strangers in a strange place. 


2 thoughts on “Stranger

  1. Beautifully captured Linda Catherine. Many is the time I have felt this, whereby a brief encounter was had and I had wished for it to continue. The key to your piece is removing oneself from one location of freedom and friendship to another, less so.
    How can such an encounter be so ephemeral ? Did my heart not flutter and am I not still next to you?
    Like a chapter in a book – closed and read.B

    1. Thank you, B. your keen observation applies to all the levels of encounters I was thinking of. It’s so strange to think of all the people one once knew and called friends who faded away, you might not even recognise some of them if they were sitting on the same train, in the same room with you.Faces that were so dear to you, removed. It is beautiful in some way, having memories with people whose faces have taken on shapes of indifference to you, beautiful and the strangest thing to be aware of. (hence the title, pun on the comparative of strange and someone you don’t know)

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