Strangers

I believe I might have touched on this topic before somewhat.
I have this fantasy in my mind of disappearing.
Just vanishing.
Like the end of a book.
No on knows what happens next.
As far as they know, still alive and at least slightly vibrant.
And this has happened with me and a lot of people.

Not friends, just strangers.

See, I meet a lot of strangers.
This sounds bizarre, of course everyone meets strangers, everyone is, after all, a stranger at some point.
But I really meet them.
Because they stay strangers.
This still isn't making much sense.
But ne vous inquiétez pas, I will endeavour to clarify.

I meet people whom I've somehow made contact with on the internet.
Usually a one off meeting.
Usually while I'm travelling.

Sometimes we go to a gig, because I have no one else to take me.

Sometimes we meet briefly on street corners and chat for only a few minutes.

Sometimes I drive halfway across town to meet them for just one night, spend half an hour talking as though we've known each other all our lives, then drop them back before driving home to sleep before an early start.

Sometimes I approach a stranger in a bar, at a party, at a concert, sometimes they approach me.

Sometimes we talk in lines and they buy me a t-shirt because they're at the front.

Sometimes an acquaintance makes it known that someone would like to meet me.

Sometimes it will be 3:39am and a voice will ask if I'm okay and hour later we're saying goodbye.

So I'll talk with these people.

Sometimes I show them where I live.

Sometimes we'll dance, sometimes we'll walk home, and lie on the grass and laugh.

And sing.
And I don't usually sing for anybody.

But strangers can't judge.

They won't say anything.

And so I indulge them in all my secret wishes, my greatest fears, my insecurities, my confidences.

And they just accept.

They never tell me that I can't do something.

Because the beauty of a stranger is that they know nothing about you.

For all they know, I could be superwoman.

I could be the most amazing artist on this planet.

I could be the best belly dancer the world's ever seen.

And so they treat you like that.

Where everyone else is skeptical, my strangers are encouraging.

Where everyone else is too serious, my unknowns are jovial.

Where everyone else is inattentive, my outlanders listen to me like my voice is sweet.

And really, what does it matter if they tell everyone you're insane?

Because they stay strangers.

They go back to their country, their flat, their apartment, their whatever,
and sometimes I don't even know their surname.



And then sometimes I miss them.