Perfect Stranger

Across a room that teems with faces
Is your face. A stranger's face.
You're a perfect stranger,
My perfect stranger.
I've never seen a stranger as perfect as you!
So perfect for me!

I hate missed connections and
This threatens to be one.
So, let's meet
Quickly! Before it's too late
And we leave on separate paths.
Divided without ever being whole,
Without knowing our perfect strangers.
For I hope that I am your perfect stranger too?

Some day, I think, we will be strangers
No more.
A little strange? Admittedly.
Estranged? Never!
Perfect for each other? Always.

{Picture from the film Amélie.}

Appreciation for the familiar.

"When you talked earlier about, after a few years, how a couple would begin to hate each other by anticipating their reactions or getting tired of their mannerisms… I think it would be the opposite for me… I think I can really fall in love when I know everything about someone. The way he’s going to part his hair, which shirt he’s going to wear that day… knowing the exact story he’d tell in a given situation.
I’m sure that’s when I’d know I’m really in love."

~Céline, Before Sunrise~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you feel that way? I do. Sometimes I think there is nothing so comforting as the familiar. Sure, experiencing new things is great; the thrill of the unknown is unparalleled! But at the end of the day I just want to be reassured by something predictable. Though I am not one for daily rituals that must be performed. Just being in a familiar place with the people I love and know is enough for me.
{...Though this is probably because I'm a major homebody.}

The burgeoning story.

I've been carrying around a story in my head for a while now.
Not a short story, as in a few pages and it's done. No... this is much longer than that. It's patiently been humming in the back of my brain. I've been ignoring it. But now its kicking against the bars of my mind.
I can't neglect it much longer. It's burning a hole in my pocket. I can feel it tingling on the tips of my fingers.
It wants to be told!

It's like carrying around a mouthful of water. I know I shall either have to spit it out or swallow it. Swallowing it would be the coward's way out. I know I'm going to have to spit it out. Soon. And it will be so relieving!

But till then, I am holding it close to me, not wanting to let it go yet. Why, I wonder? I think because I am afraid it shall disappoint me. I am afraid that it will cheapen and lose its lustre in the harsh light of reality.
Also, I'm in the midst of two other stories. One I am at a standstill with. The second I have been nursing for about a year. They are both technically on back burners already...

Hm... I think this story is about to get its long deserved turn at front and center in my literary efforts.