dear stranger,

since eternity, your name has been tagged
not with value but with warning;

apprehension, threat and peril are words
it has become synonymous with;

a vehement no said by my conscience and
protective glares from my parents are ubiquitous;

there’s something terribly curious about you.

dear stranger,

why is it that when i speak to you,
my heart’s at ease and and my mind speaks free;

why is it that when i pour my heart out,
i feel no guilt nor a fear of judgement;

why is it that when we converse recurrently,
i feel as though i’ve never been truer to myself;

it feels as if you’ve been around the whole time.

dear stranger,

i have neither spoken to nor seen you in person,
and yet i feel like you know me better than most;

you’ve had patience and you’ve been kind,
you’ve been generous with your time;

miles, cities and even continents away,
you’ve been a strange solace;

s t r a n g e r s,

but then again, what’s in a name?



5 thoughts on “strange(r)

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