I feel a great impulse to write.
And then it hit me.
I am just too afraid to find solace in words… for I do not dare to face what is there when I have to dig deep into myself.
The mess I might find. The ghosts I might need to confront.
So I turn my back, dip my chin a little, and allow that pained, sad smile to creep out.
Throw an arm up, and draw a weak wave in the air.
The perfect, mysterious stranger, again.