Missing A Stranger

This is a collection of writings I don't really have a name for. They're honestly just my thoughts, but with more imagery and finesse.

Missing someone who you don’t really know: is that even possible?

I know you, but I don’t know you. I’ve met you before, seen your face, heard your voice, know your name, and for me, you could say the same. But I don’t know you. I know of you.

It’s like the child who never really got to know her dad. She met him, saw his face, heard his voice, knew his name, and for her, he could say the same. He was her father, but he wasn’t her father. She was his daughter, but she wasn’t his daughter. And that’s why she didn’t catch a flight to Florida to stay by his side while he died. She didn’t know him.

It’s like the fan who follows their favorite rapper. He met him, saw his face, heard his voice, knew his name, and for him, he could say the same. But he didn’t know him. Didn’t know about the hours lying awake at night, fighting an internal fight to be more than the industry, or keep the hustle up completely. Didn’t know about the struggle against the vices that were beginning to overtake him. Didn’t know that he was slowly starting to hate the world, and wanted to flee. He didn’t know him.

It’s like the girl who met a boy who was more intriguing than she could handle.

She met him before. What a wonderful happenstance.
She saw his face. What a beautiful face it was.
She heard his voice. What a sultry voice to hear.
She knew his name. My, how she’d love to call his name.

And for her, he could say the same. But she didn’t know him.

Yet she wanted to change that. Because what’s the use of her missing someone who she doesn’t really know?

I want to know my stranger.

The End

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