There is a world where I sit in the back of a bus, going to work -
and another where I sit at a bar on a Friday night -
and another where I sit by a river in the evenings and draw what I see.

In that world, you are the woman who gets on the bus after my stop and sits in the empty seat across from mine -
in that world, you are the young man laughing carelessly on the dance floor with a drink in your hand -
in that world, you are the obscure figure in the distance that drifts by on their boat, feeding ducks and playing a harmonica as the sun goes down.

The me in that world will admire your pretty face from afar, too afraid to say anything -
in that one, I will force myself to stand and ask you for a dance -
in the last one, I will draw you as you pass by, your song leaving me in its wake.

What I'm trying to say is -
I think I got stuck in the world where I haven't met you yet and don't know if I ever will.