you could call it poetry

s t r a n g e r s

I saw you sitting on the bus yesterday
and you felt so real, somehow, in this world of nothing feeling real at all.
And it was like I'd know you; had known you for years, decades, whole eras.

How your red hair glowed in the sun and your serious, almost blank, but still so deep face gave away its secret of smiling, of setting the whole world on fire.

And I wish you had seen me, sitting there, staring at you in awe, as if suddenly all of me lay spilled out on the dirty bus' floor and you would look at it in surprise, to see a soul like yours and still so awfully different.
As if I was sitting there completely naked, all my flaws and layers for you to see.

But our eyes only brushed for a second and there was a light in yours for a moment and I smiled. I hope you saw that smile and realised that I saw you. Felt you. Without touching you the slightest.