• my_alter_ego 54w

    She was right there, I could see her across the road, standing ordinarily among ordinary people, meagre strangers.
    I wondered ' How come some departures hurt so much, some things that hardly had a proper arrival? '.
    I thought , 'How come i know so much about a stranger, somebody who hardly matters, somebody who's as usual as the crowd ?'.
    Why do I know so much about her ?
    Why does that particular thought discriminate her from her immediate neighbours .
    Do we all have thoughts harboured, waiting for that perfect stranger to arrive when we pour it all out ?
    Or maybe she was just a stranger who got my heads turned
    Or maybe we do have a past ; who knows ; who cares?
    Who cares when its present worth is just as much as of a piece of memory, from a bank of moments and a wide abyss of past. Past that haunts but I still cherish.
    Do you do the same ?

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    Hello stranger, do I know ya? ( 1 )