Crossing pathes. You think my hair is too long to be practical. I judge the books you carry. That’s how we meet strangers right ? By not really meeting them. That’s why I imagine us elsewhere. You, using a typewriter in a building on fire, writing about a book I have to finish for you. Me, in a secret office, sending you an email. You, in a small boat, running away, sending me a playlist before disappearing for months. I imagine us in a thousand scenarios. In none are we bored. We’re arguing sometimes, debatting. But we stay grounded. Not always stable. Crazy to some. But together. Resisting.