You don’t know it
But when she rides a bus
And she looks at the passengers
And the blinding lights of the
Streets, all she can see is you–
She’s digging on her memory and
How your face can be alive
Amidst the millions of images she sees everyday.

You don’t know it
But every night,
She is waiting for your message
Or even a signal, that you are still there, that both of you can continue
Your midnight conversations, that you can still race against the sun and be the first to shine, and that you can still be awake in each other’s dreams,
With your names imprinted in each other’s lips.

You don’t know it,
But when she is alone
She’s always thinking
Of thousands of versions of how
Your souls can meet again–
Maybe in the park,
In that street,
In that place where you first met each other,
Maybe, just maybe,
You’ll talk to her,
You’ll walk with her,
And just maybe,
She can turn the fiction into reality–
She can open her mouth and her heart,
And just maybe, you can realize how her life has become a mess since she said she likes you but you just laughed–

—  marge, “To the Boy I Once Met and Forever Loved”