There are mornings when I am buying white roses from Rita on the corner of Roebling and 2nd and I think of you buying white roses and not knowing why they call out to you. There are afternoons when I am walking past the graffiti on a spring day when the cherry blossoms have just begun to bloom, and I swear that you have looked at the same mural and felt something too. And there are nights when I'm listening to a new electro band in the back of Pete's Candy Shop and I swear you are listening to the same band at the same time.
I keep looking for you in every stranger.
Where are you? Why haven't you found me yet? Or did you, and I gave you up?
I searched every face at the Marcy stop, all of the eyes at Chambers Street. I thought I saw you once on the corner of Havemeyer and 3rd among a group of guys playing dominoes on a card table. My neighbor Maria swore you were her son who is a policeman on the Lower East Side.
Alas, I am here, alone, buried in my white sheets. Wondering if you have forgotten about me. Wondering if you are with another soul, who you mistakenly think is me. God knows how many times I mistook another soul for you.
Feel my freshly polished nails against your skin, my thick blonde hair against your face, my teal eyes mixed with flecks of yellow looking deep inside of you, past all of your blockades. Hear me whispering across space and time that I am waiting here for you until your soul meets mine on an unexpected day in an unexpected place.