A novel is writ
from the brush of a knee.
Stranger in the window seat.
What's wrong with me?

maybe I saw her
at the laundromat
and just missed her,
I was looking for a change,
while she walked
away.

She who dives
down the thorny road
in search for apothecary
to cure the woes

She who didn't
know what she would
find. Is apparently

lost

Then one day  
a Galahad would
come bump her toes

Irrevocable.

Inevitable, at least.

This blasts a loud boom of happenstance

Helpless ****** in the face of
the egoist

Both come to terms
and apparently
It has to be

It simply has to

be

Her smile was the rare alphabet that composed the words.
Words that made sentences
Sentences that begot paragraphs
Paragraphs that turned into pages
Pages that turned into chapters
Chapters that turned into books
Books that told my story.
My story that unleashed her into my heart and unveiled my century long love mines

My reaction to her smile was the punctuation that changed the meaning of every letter,word, sentence,paragraph, page, chapter, book and ultimately my story.
That was far from over ,she changed my world.

It was not just a smile but the mark of the finest exploration expedition ever known to my circles.
Her smile was the build behind the words, sentences, paragraphs, pages, chapters, the book and ultimately the story that sent me flying.

Far from over,it was not just a flight but a first class flight of passion, affection, belonging, attachment and confidence that saw me smile with a smile that moved the mountains and shook the valleys of my understanding.
She was the element 115 that changed the alchemy, geography, radiology physics .she changed my approach to the theory of everything.

The beautiful soul behind the rare smile that changed everything lays hidden behind the alphabetic curtain of five letters

Behold AMIGO
Not just a word but a monument

The friends I make on my daily commute
Are not friends, really.
I don't know them.

But I could, couldn't I?
The mom with a nose ring and cool sunglasses,
Who absentmindedly scratches her cheek,
Flashing her wedding ring,
Blinding with the sun's glare
Rings familiar.

She could be my neighbor
Or my coworker
Or my sister's best friend's older sister.
I wouldn't know.

The man in the van
That reads AJ & Sons
Who also checks his phone at a red light--
He could be my plumber,
Or my next random drinking partner at a bar.

I don't know them.
But I could.
We cross hundreds of paths every day,
Thousands, tens of thousands in a year.

We are not alone.
We are strangers and not-strangers
Hurtling through space and time all the time.

Racing for money, notoriety, happiness,
Racing simultaneously towards and away from death.

We are one and the same
We are none and neither.

Are we?