Casual Poet

While I still pretend to be a true mind wanderer, taking the tourist route while the nights are light until midnight whenever I can, he is taking the evening ferry over to the peninsula and writes like a camera capturing leaking light. Never once did he failed to raise one eyebrow against my casual urge to smell a book, alongside with his casual needs to challenge the words of dictionary.

It was a hot humid Saturday, windless. There was music, there were some stars in the sky, and later on there were fireworks. But they were gone now before I knew it.

He is truly a casual poet. Will I still ever come across anyone like him?
I’ll miss him soon enough.

Notes

  1. cautionarytale posted this