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“we all think we’re writers”

November 17, 2011
For now, you are nameless.

a faceless, figment of my overdeveloped imagination; who
lurks in libraries and
from porcelain coffee cups,

who wears dark rimmed glasses and blue baseball caps.

I thought I saw you once, walking my way with a ring on your finger and a black case slung on your shoulder but when I squinted and puckered my lips & tilted my face,

it wasn’t you.

And again, my retinas mistook your plaid shirt and kind words for someone I thought I knew, but the cold air and snowy ground brought my eyes into focus and

it wasn’t you, either.
(must have been a failure of rods and cones; im so sure.)

So now I wait: I wait in a rainfall
at a bus stop
for a sign,or a glance

& sometimes I get them- those steel blue eyes or irises the colour of Rain forest foliage but,
They don’t say what
I want to hear.

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