It’s summer when you take a stroll in the park, grab coffee in a local bistro café, borrow a book at the public library or wait for a cab to take you home at 4am. In a fateful turn of events, you accidentally bump, spill coffee or recklessly stumble into this guy with either slick dark blonde hair, messy waves or a clean-cut. You say sorry and look up but he’s already on his feet, catching you – in whatever way.
He starts up the conversation, asking if you’re okay and following up with an introduction of himself. He might ask you out for a coffee, dinner or take you around the city. You’re gonna talk for hours on hours end. By midnight, he’s on your front porch kissing you goodnight for the very first time, but definitely not the last.
You’re gonna go on another date. He’s gonna talk about his first grade crush, how he wet his jeans at 12 and how he got into a fight during his prom. He’ll say he’s a varsity in his high school but leaves out the part that he never got in the first line, and you’ll stare at him in awe. You go on more dates and get to know each other even more.
You give him a mixtape of your favorite songs. Half sharing your heart out. You’ll move into his pace, making sure you’re on the same page. You give little signs but he wont pick it up so easily. But it doesn’t matter because the way he hugs behind you or holds your waist, all the intuitions washes away.
As the plot progresses, he becomes your everything. His limbs become yours, after nights of hugs and warm cuddles. You talk with feelings under your breath. Your heart becomes his. Though you’re not too sure his heart is yours. But you lie to yourself anyway.
You act like you’ve already known him your whole life, but no you don’t. He forms a fiction out of your biography, giving little twists and rainbows on your plot. He immortalize your fantasies of love, happy endings and even unicorns and pot of golds.
When you fall in love with a stranger, you assume you know the beginning and ending and everything in between. Because with this stranger, you’re sure. You’re sure how it started and how it will end. You’re sure he’s going to fall just as madly in love with you. You’re sure his scent is printed on your sheets. You’re sure you’re not digging a puzzle out of a jukebox, because he’s that predictable. Love, you thought, is that predictable. You’re sure.
But in the end of it all, like how everything should be, he’s still a stranger and you’re.. well, you.