Hey stranger

What is your name?

Look me in the eyes

So I can memorize your face.

 

Why are you here?

Tell me the story.

Whisper your deepest fears

And I’ll write you mine.

 

Here –

Take this book,

Open these pages,

Find that line

That keeps you reading,

The words

That give life meaning,

The intrigue

That keeps you thirsting for

More.

 

Perhaps our chapters can combine,

You, a new character,

A brilliant dimension

To this 2-D world.

You can make my words

Rhyme,

My dialogue

Poetry.

Make my pen

Flow seamless,

Echoing the melody of my existence.

 

You. Dearest stranger.

You could be the fabric

Of my unfinished quilt,

The glue to

My broken photo frame,

The piece of this jigsaw

That I can never find.

 

Or we can fall

Apart

Amidst the loose-leaf papers.

The drafts. The edits.

Scratched out. Forgotten.

Like we were nothing at all.

Because our story did not make it.

It crumbled under the weight

Of other stories,

For which time had made precious.

Stories that were hard to write,

And even harder to lose;

What is our writing,

This fairytale, not founded in facts,

Nor history,

Nor science,

In comparison?

 

Will you be my story’s hero,

Or will you forget

My name

My face

My voice

My words

Until

I am just another stranger.