(Meredith On Her Birthday, 2008)
Lately I’ve been obsessing over the idea of the stranger. Not knowing someone but being fascinated by them to the point you want to know them. But as soon as you are introduced and you start learning who they are, they are no longer a stranger. I want to preserve some quality of someone as a stranger, only know them at a distance, though we will talk at a causal level, our conversations will never grow any depth. Or maybe there will be depth without any context of where they’re coming from, just pieces to a puzzle that can never be complete, with missing pieces that will never surface.
I discovered that there is only one reality that the stranger can be known at the same time as left unknown, in fiction. And so I’ll just live in my words to believe there can be a possibility of the perfect stranger.
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