You and I
I spotted you right there, walking on a crowded platform, with a book in your hands.
You’re waiting for him.
Familiar images flash through my mind – a tap on your shoulder, mock anger, and,
No wait, we’re thinking too far. Come back.
So. Platform. You. Book.
I want to watch you from a distance.
Your flittering gaze betrays your focus, and I try to invade the world in your mind.
A world of words.
Precarious, yet beguiling.
I want to hold you back, for I’ve lived through your mind’s world. I’ve seen it shatter. We have.
And then, all of a sudden, you look at me, no, look through me.
For, I don’t exist. Not as yet.
You have yet to be me.
And, in that minute, liminal temporality, in that yet-to, you cease to be me.
Or, you become another me, for a fleeting second.
In that liminal yet-to, we both locate flights. Possibilities.
You, of a different future.
I, of a different past.
And, for once, it is there that we be. As one unified me.
