You used to be my favourite encounter.
I used to go to this park
And just sit on a bench
Pretending to read my book
Pretending to listen to the birds singing
Pretending to observe the nature
Pretending to take pictures.
But I was just waiting for you.
Everyday, around lunchtime, you came.
You ordered at that bar
You wrote some words
In that little notebook that you carried with you everywhere
And then you were gone.
Once, you came with someone.
He was a friend of yours I think,
He asked you what was in your notebook.
I remember that I listened carefully :
“Drawings” that’s what you said.
But I knew you were lying.
I’ve seen you, several times, writing.
Why would you lie?
When we started to talk, some months after, I asked you the same question
You had the same answer.
But then you added :
“Because for me, words are drawings.
I don’t look at what they mean
But at what they look like.”
I like encounter as a word
Because it is all *******,
You can write it at one go
But you have to raise your pen
To finish the cross on the T.
We too, were together,
But at some point we had to part,
Only to meet up the following day
In an interminable encounter.