The Photographer and The Poet

A stranger and a stranger had crossed paths one day, walking down a relatively empty pathway in a relatively empty park. It was a rather chilly day in autumn, nearing winter, and not many enjoyed the cool shivers that the breezes delivered. These strangers though, both minded the opinion that fall is one of the more favourable seasons out there. 

The couple of them believed that it is a season that holds much beauty with the changing of colours in leaves as well as the weather of the time itself, both thinking positively of the temperature that many in the area would already regard as cold. 

This particular pair just happened to both be artists on the job when they first encountered one another; one, a photographer, the other, a poet.

The Poet was walking slowly in the middle of the simple cement pathway leading into the centre of the grandiose park, writing with an excellently crafter fountain pen into a leather bound notebook. All the while the Photographer walked in the opposite direction, completely unaware of the world surrounding oneself, lost in the camera lens positioned carefully above one. 

Unbeknown to each other, they were making a perfect beeline to crash-course into the partner, as if they were made to meet. 

Just a few feet away, the two stopped and looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the world around them and the wonder in it that most were unable to see. Both of them were scanning the area when their eyes found the others' and soon the pair was lost in their opposites eyes. They both searched for the same thing, it was a something that neither had managed to put into a poem yet, or capture in the thousand words that one image held. 

As they approached each other, the Photographer laid the camera down to rest on the strap that was attached, whilst the Poet put the book and pen away together.

The Photographer was the first to speak. A hand went out, and a mesmerizing voice stated a name.

The Poet responded with a nod and shook the outstretched hand as the situation called for. 

“It’s beautiful out here,” the Photographer said.

“And yet most people don’t come out,” replied the Poet. 

“Agreed, and yet, you’re here, why, may I ask?” the Photographer questioned, curious. 

“For the same reason you are.”

Without needing further explanation, the Photographer understood exactly what the Poet meant, having seen the writing materials that this person carried earlier. 

“You are a writer, I’d assume?”

“Somewhat,” the Poet answered. “A poet, to be precise. I’d take it you’re a photographer.”

The Photographer confirmed with a single word. “Yes.”

The artists reveled internally at the presence of one another. Finally, there was someone who may see from their perspective, yet have an entirely own opinion. At last there was a person that was able to comprehend the way the other viewed things, but at the same time, see it all in multiple different manners; someone the opposite could actually learn something from. 

The Poet and the Photographer talked for a while, deciding to chat on a nearby bench. They spoke of the art in everything, their passion for their work, their opinions on modern society, and even brought up a short segment on their views of religion and politics. The Poet was glad to have someone who was so similar, yet so different; the Photographer was mystified as of how one could’ve bumped into someone so… ideal. 

When the pair finished their speech, they both declared an unspoken pact that they would rendezvous again, and at a time in the near future. No matter the circumstances, they would find each other. 

So, as dusk crept closer, the Photographer and the Poet asked each other on which path they should take; the one that the Poet came from, or the one that the Photographer came from. The bench, being to the side of both paths, gave them the perfect spot to choose from. To go to the left, or to go to the right; it was all up to them. 

As the couple linked arms, they walked in the same direction without the need of any silly commentary or argument. They strode forward; into the dusk; into the unmade path; down the walkway of what lay in silent wait in the future. They walked past the two options, and created a new way, the third option; a choice that would guide a path for future generations to come. 

They walked down the middle.

A/N: hey all. if you've gotten to this point, i'd have to assume you've read the above short, so a big thank you for doing that. this is my first Wattpad post and even if i only get one read, i'll be pretty darn satisfied. please vote if you liked it, share it (...that is a thing... right?) if you dictate it share-worthy, and comment if you've the time. constructive critism is very much appreciated. :)

this work is part of a... 'project' thingy i began a while back titled "Writing Blabber", which essentially consisted of five separate... 'shorts' about some random things. if any of you readers out there find this and like it, i'll put another one up -even though they're all pretty pointless. 

again a humongous thank you for reading and don't forget to vote, share, comment, n' all that jazz.

until the end, 

-nuit.