All the chatter about forever

never meant much to me.

I’d gone through more women

than my share allowed

me to reevaluate life’s missing links,

hidden in all the likeliest places,

like a puzzle piece,

but not just any old thing chiseled will fit.

I encouraged a stranger to engage

in a bus stop conversation with me.

This woman didn’t know me,

and I did not fear her judging my decisions.

She gave an engaging glance

and nodded as though my words encompassed

the beat of a song as I unfolded my mishaps.

When my sense of vulnerability snapped,

I shot upright.

I departed, having had the best conversation

I’d ever had.

The woman said nothing.

She listened.

She let me talk and didn’t tell me whether I was right

or had improvements to make.

Far be it from me to not leave well enough alone.

I twisted around two football fields later.

This woman had more to hear,

and I had more to say.

I backtracked as she boarded a bus.

I doubled over, caught my breath, and waved.

She signed that she was deaf.

I signed, I think I’m in love.

The woman blushed.

Heat flooded my face,

and my heartbeat quickened its stride.

The woman motioned for the bus driver to stop.

She exited and approached me.

She talked to me without the deaf part.

She could tell I needed someone to talk to,

so she listened.

She said I should come over,

and we could work on my sign language.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://drinkcoffeewrite.online/

Twitter: AC0040