Gia Raquel

The condensation on his ginger ale was dripping down to his fingertips before we even began to talk about anything with significance.

It started with him.

Homeless, craving some kind of human interaction. It’s where I was too.

His heart held too much but still needed more. Far more than what I would give.

So when I walked away from him I couldn’t let this adrenaline go

In between the pages of his notebook

The little I had known about humanity was so much broader than the crawl space of his makeshift bed.

It became okay to trust the curious strangers we often shun,

Becuase part of growing up is forgetting the little innocence it takes to believe someone.

I believed him.

I believed the rest after him.

These aren’t strangers.

It’s utterly enticing to meet people who remind you of no one.

But they are reflections of yourself, or you of them. Maybe you just couldn’t tell the difference anymore.