Chance meetings

Image from here.

Where do your mundane activities lead you? The other day, I was doing homework and then I suddenly found myself caught up in one of those whirlwinds that leave you shaken for days, even weeks (I hope not) after.

What began as research for class turned into one of those three-hour conversations that you keep in the pockets of your mind - an unwitting bench mark for more meaningful conversations in the future. The conversation itself felt a bit like literature (carefully crafted questions, beautifully written responses, glimpses of brilliance in little turns of phrases). And it began so innocently - a thing that I needed to check off my to-do list. It was Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail who so aptly put it: "The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings." And so it has, for me at least. In the three hours that we spoke, I've said more to that stranger than I have to those I call my friends. It was both strange and fascinating, a bit like walking on a ledge, edging closer and closer to see how far you can go without actually falling. It felt a bit like putting myself out there, like taking a chance, like all those other cliches that people use to say falling in love without actually having to say it. It felt like dangling my legs by the edge, wondering how it felt to jump into something so foreign, so unknown. I jumped.

It ended as abruptly as it began.  At the end of the third hour, I realized how strange we actually were to each other. It had taken him that long to tell me that he was getting married. Soon. After that, we exchanged nothing more but polite pleasantries. I said goodbye before I could do more things I would regret. But when I remember things he said, I don't, really. It's only when I hear his words in my head that I feel haunted.  Haunted by the idea that I could meet someone like that, so late, too late. Haunted by the idea that he might be the only one like that. Haunted by the idea that while I will keep those three hours worth of words for a long time (maybe forever), I know that he has already forgotten me. How could he not?

My head is still above the water though, I'll live.