dark-washed jeans, a plain black shirt, long-sleeved. reading his way deeply into a realm outside of all this, casted far inside his mind.

my eyes droop slowly, and i notice the outline of the stranger—so intently focused on the pages in front of him—turn into blurred edges. the raindrops lightly tap on the window next to me with each drop slowly making its way to the bottom of the dirt-stained glass.

my eye lids, so heavy, fall into a drowse in what feels like an inebriation of nonexistent memories with you. an illusory vision of your daily commute.

and though i find you in the stranger sitting across from me—in dark-washed jeans, a plain black shirt, long-sleeved, reading his way deeply into a realm outside of all this—this stranger is just a stranger after all. a stranger who is simply replicating an imagined image of someone i thought i recognized.