Every Speck of Gold

You know those people you meet so randomly, like after months and months of feeling gray and dull, there's suddenly this person who makes you feel alive; or at least the inklings of being alive are in your veins again. But you never noticed this person before. You've passed by this floor a hundred times, passed by that cubicle at least a dozen times more, and you never saw him/her, and all of a sudden, BAM! They're there, and it's different, somehow.

Anyway. So yeah, you've met them, right? An introduction here, a few smiles here and there. Then one day you see them, and your hands suddenly become sweaty, and you're really nervous for some reason. They say "hey," you smile back, maybe even wave, but you ask yourself after if maybe you should have SAID something, maybe you should have struck up a conversation. You dismiss the thought, remembering that, duh, why break the routine? It's not like you actually LIKE  this person, right? But, you see, as soon as you ask yourself that question, you already do.

Slowly, and unknowingly, you begin to anticipate meeting them in the corridors; you start to scan the room to see if they're there; and you start to notice your breaks seem to be in sync; and you start dressing up when you know both of you are going on duty. In short, you start putting in effort. Effort to be noticed, effort to be talked to, effort to be... more of a friend, I guess, it depends.

Then you decide, finally, to talk with them. Only, you don't talk, not... really. You pull up the work chat app, and start a conversation with them. You say hey first, of course, and then scramble for a response when they say hi back. Whatever, you just weren't ready. So you go on. This time it's outside work, you chat, you text, but you never see each other.

You find out they like horror movies, and creepy stories. They like The 1975, and RomComs, they want to travel the entire country, too. You find out they have siblings, and they'd rather stay in than go to the beach. They tell you about their plans, a bit of their dreams, and you realize you're falling in love with an idea of a person. But you're in too deep now, you can't pull yourself out.

By now you have already deduced you only have two options: run with it and hope you don't drown, or cut it out.

You choose the former. Because, hey, what have you to lose, right?

Wrong choice.

Because after months and months of feeling dead inside, you feel alive again, and that person starts to become your drug. You're dependent now, dependent on an idea. But then they don't know that. They don't know you've memorized every single speck of gold in their eyes to keep you warm at night, and you've replayed over and over every single conversation you've typed out. They don't know that the drunk texts weren't really drunk texts. They don't know they're the reason you're up at midnight just to wait for them to say Goodnight back. They don't know your heart will cave into itself when you learn from someone else that they're leaving.

But they'll never know, now, will they? Because how do you tell someone you've fallen in love with the idea of their brown eyes staring deeply into yours? How do you tell someone you've fallen in love with their sarcastic banter and perfect use of grammar and commas?

You don't. You just write it down, and write it down again. Then throw it away, burn it, bury it, hide it, whatever. Then the stories in your head, the ones you've kept because they made you laugh, made you smile, made you breathe, you put them under that rug that you love so much, along with every other story that keeps you fighting through life. You keep it there until it's covered by other stories, other golden flecks from brown eyes, other curls from other people's hair, other scars from different heartaches.

Then on rainy days, you sit by your window with a cup of tea or hot coffee, and you recall that one person who told you they hated travelling in the rain, and it will make you smile. Because their brown eyes are flashing in your mind again, and you recall every single conversation, and for a second, you feel alive again.

Sappy Stories I Can Only Tell Strangers

You know how there are stories you can tell your mother, and only your mother, but there are also stories you can only tell your closest friends, and then there are stories you tell no one about because... they're yours. But once in a while, there are stories you can only tell strangers, because, let's face it, there are times you just need to paint a picture of something beautiful to someone who has no idea who you are.

There are days when the stories you've told the people close to you no longer seem as colorful as you thought they would be. It's there, in the little movements: an eye roll with a knowing smile, the deep sigh as you begin your story, that thumbs-up sticker after you type the extremely long chat, the halfhearted "Okay, yeah," after you've told them a different story about the same person, and the agonizing feeling of being a broken record and an annoying friend.

So then these stories go away, or at least you make them go away, for a while. You brush them under a metaphorical rug and put a coffee table of practicality on top of that rug to better mask the bulge of stories hidden underneath. But like all things, the truth comes out, sort of.

Let's say you're on the train, the bus, the local public transport, whatever, or even sitting down alone at a restaurant or cafe at lunch break, and suddenly you see your "friend"from high school or college, maybe even elementary school, who knows, or maybe it's that one girl you kept smiling at in that old place you used to work at. The point is, they aren't your closest of friends, they aren't really friends enough to be called friends, but you know each other. You know each other well enough to tell half-truths and one-sided stories to each other. 

These are your familiar strangers, the ones who will ooh and aah at your stories, the ones you choose to tell, the ones you paint with such vibrant color. These are the people who will only take what you give them and ask no questions, they will not care enough to ask, nor will they care enough to remember. But will you care? Nope. Because all you really needed was SOMEONE, ANYONE, to talk to, to tell your hidden stories to. Someone you won't see everyday, someone who doesn't KNOW the entire story of your life, someone who will listen and laugh, and walk away after thinking of how adorable it all sounded but will forget it the next second.

I thank the Lord, or whatever being you believe in, for these familiar strangers, and maybe, you could be one of my familiar strangers, too.