perfect strangers

Photo: Chris JL.Licensed CC-BY-NC-ND.
Photo: Chris JL.
Licensed CC-BY-NC-ND.

I fell in love this morning. For seven solid minutes I fell deeply in love.

I do this daily. Sometimes more than twice a day; not to mention the frequency that I rediscover new depths of the word, the feeling, the action, while interacting with those to whom I am devoted. These “instances”, these “obsessions” may be brief, but they are very real. I obsess for short periods of time, encompassing and intense, fleeting, one sided and casual to the observer. It may appear as if I am sleeping, meditating or simply riding the bus to work but during these tiny windows of time, I dive headfirst into eternal commitments. I play around in the personal energy that has been presented to me and usually, I fall in love. I turn a corner, and it is gone. Stored away in my head, in my heart, for later. Forever.

Today, you sat down on the bus and I could have kissed you. Immediately. This should not sound immature or childish, yes, the word ‘love’; a four letter word that has not begun to withstand the velocity of its intent, has been thrown around as commonly as the word ‘amazing’, but here, in this text, I must assure you that I mean this wholeheartedly. I loved you for seven minutes and I could have kissed you the very second I met you. If we had any further contact I am positive that I would find reasons not to kiss you, but right now, right here, I would have thrown my lips on yours with a pounce akin to that of a panther. Brought you down into your seat and walked back to mine, just that moment, nothing more.

I loved you for seven whole minutes.

Your eyes were sleepy, drowsy, your hair mussed at the back where your comb could not reach. The circles under your lower lids made the color of your eyes scream into mine, there was a three second connection where we mutually recognized each other’s existence and then you sat in front of me, pulled out a book and I fell in love for next seven minutes. You were reading ‘let the right one in’ and I momentarily thought to ask you about it. I would have lied, said I had read it when I have not, and would have proceeded to recommend something altogether different to divert the conversation to a book I have actually read, and would have sounded like an utter fool. I almost don’t care enough to reach out and gesture for your attention….no.

I sit in silence, radiating love at the back of your head. I watch your eyes grace the pages of your book, from the reflection in the window, you look perfectly quizzical. You flip another, scan it, then close the book, then your eyes and you rest. I could have kissed you full on the mouth, your eyes already closed, lips parted ever so slightly. You look tired, maybe you needed the attention. I try to vibrate healing energy your way as you relax, head nodding to one side. You need it.

As you prepare to get off, you sneak me a smirk over the seat. Turning your head slightly, the corners of your mouth inch upwards and your lips purse ever so slightly. I choke. This is where it ends…or begins…I cannot choose.


Categories Essays Fiction

Chelsea lives in Seattle and truly believes the Emerald City is one of the greatest cities on Earth. By day she is an Employment Consultant/Job Coach for Project SEARCH, a supported employment program for adults with disabilities located at Seattle Children's Hospital, by night she is the Artistic Director and Playwright in Residence at Copious Love Productions, an independent theatre company currently roaming the stages of Seattle. You may read her work at as well as on her personal blog

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