Imperfect Stranger

I remember the day I learned your last name.

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t,

so I could keep pretending like it wasn’t your name that day.

Because before then,

before then…

you had barely met me,

and you read me like a bedtime story.

Each of my complexities

turned into a toddler’s words in a pretty disguise.

With each meaningless word I spoke,

you knew me.

You guessed my secrets,

recited my dreams,

drew my memories,

like in some other life,

we did it all together.

Then I saw your name

in the wrong section of the local paper.