Dear Stranger,
Your smell is reminiscent of stationeries long kept under my bed, beholding stories of friendship, love and infatuation, along with trinkets that arouse clips of memories in my past. You do not know me. Nor I, you. We are mere strangers trapped in this awkward aura of familiarity, unsure whether to smile or turn a cold shoulder. However, I cannot help but stare at your face for you are an epitome of all things innocent and beautiful. But you already know that. Surely, you must. You turn heads. Girls would whistle if only their propriety would not be in question. Guys leash their girlfriends whenever you’re within a 100 feet radius. You, my gorgeous friend, are an eye-candy and perhaps the perfect masterpiece God has ever created.
However, past your centerfold face, your eyes behold a wretchedness so eloquently masked by a killer-smile that it elicits empathy within me I did not know existed. I should have known. Even Michelangelo’s David had crevices.
We part during a red light and still I stare ‘til your face becomes another blurry figure in my hazy memory. But for the moment I smile, thinking how freakish I seem. And for a moment there, I could have sworn you were smiling too.
Laughing now,
Reezah
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