The Day I Met Her

I met The Girl on my way home tonight. She walked along with me at the same pace, but her posture was different. She extended herself outwards and then slouched her shoulders back into herself again, as if at times she forgot the cold.

The wind blew fierce in our faces but I was the only one who felt it. I huddled close to the fur of my coat and put my hands in my pocket for warmth. The Girl did the same. As we emerged into the yellow glare of the next street light she lagged behind. Perhaps she was staring up at the smoggy glow, like me, watching the rain as it fell earthbound.

By the time I reached the park, which engulfed me in it's darkness, The Girl had gone. She hadn't said goodbye, nor told me her name or shown me her face. I walked on, ignorant and blissful. Home was nearby and I could already hear the kettle boiling. I didn't mind leaving her behind. We would meet again tomorrow on my long walk home, and her feet would stick to mine. It's almost like we are one and the same, but we're not. For she is she and I am merely I.