Silhouette Encounters

The walls of our shared bus whispered secrets, their sagging upholstery curving into remnants of forgotten dreams. An unnamed silhouette joined me. Its presence seemed etched in shadows, outlines that even the periphery of my consciousness couldn't grasp fully.

It was a Tuesday — it could easily have slipped into Thursday without skipping a beat. Days blend like colors on an artist's smeared palette. I can’t recall the conversation, the tickets or the landscape scrolling past the windows. Only this stranger's silhouette, always just to the side of my awareness, occupies my thoughts now.

I jotted down loose threads, brief phrases, and flickering images that might explain its mystery: Exhaling clouds in May, a lake that echoed words not spoken, bus rides to places lonely and rare...

Do you remember last week's rain? Or perhaps the sound of unanswered telephone rings fading into the night? Sometimes I feel them touch the ends of our lives, the distant specters of what-could-have-beens, lingering at the peripheries of imagined encounters.

You might think I've gone mad. But these musings on silhouettes offer a certain solace. Like a once-familiar melody playing quietly at the back of one's mind.

Keep walking, though fog-drenched streets opposite your noon-lit paths, and consider the shapes embraced by silhouettes, those daydreams cast against twilight terrains.