— a short nonfiction by potpourris.
Stranger Danger
Clever never goes.
I greeted a stranger with a hug today. Not just any stranger. I knew everything about him — from his favorite color to his favorite football team. I knew the home-like feeling of his eyes and how others would rush to its warmth. I knew the type of jokes that would set him off and I knew the aftermath of his laugh.
I knew all the places he likes to be touched, and his fear altogether. He’s the book I’m so familiar with I could read backwards.
And so they asked me, whether anything could trigger the memory of him. I smiled the question away because… everything does. The crescent moon. The plethora of songs he once showed me. The roads he left untravelled and every awkward situations you’d left untouched. The small talks of an introduction, the kindness of a stranger to someone in need.
I was starting to recover, but then he met my gaze halfway. Not knowing of what to do, I hugged him to brace myself for the grave repercussions of his stares to the walls I’ve built so high but felt crumbling just now.
I wish you’d stop looking at me
like you could love me.
