Strangers

Strangers not so strange ….they share a special bond with me.

They look at me with compassion, seem to understand my agony and pour out theirs. I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night, and life is not the same again.

I’m not alone, nor am I unique. Stories seem to merge irrespective of the time they occur. In fact, I’m bereft of the sense of time or calendars or clocks. It’s just that someone exists, feels and carries those moments within them, in patterns they create.

Those moments touch my being and make me aware of a universe I did not know existed. 

And then, the wheel of time moves – superimposing moments on other beings and creating different patterns – not purple but rainbows.  I see them differently.

The people I knew before have turned into strangers – weird mind-and-body combos.

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The prompt line for Prosery Monday on dVerse is by Kimberly Blaeser from her poem, “When We Sing of Might,” 

I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night.

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