Sometimes I sit and wonder

how any of this is possible.

You do not know the sound of my laughter.

You have never heard my voice catch on a difficult day.

You have never seen me walking through a crowded room,

or watched me forget where I left my keys.

And I know even less.

I do not know how your eyes look when you smile.

I do not know what kind of silence follows you.

I do not know whether your voice is soft or certain.

We are, in so many ways,

strangers.

Yet somehow,

through years of missed chances, long pauses, and unfinished conversations,

you kept finding your way back.

And I keep finding myself

wondering why.