Stranger With A Common Name
He knows her name
and she doesn't know his.
She has a favorite angle
and a favorite number
That's not all, he says.
He captures her smile,
sometimes her laughter
plastered on her face,
and stores them in his memory
yet she doesn't see him smile
just his eye being bright
and face with a little scratch.
She sometimes gets frustrated
with his speed when he's exhausted
and he suggests he's overloaded;
she would then have his thoughts discarded.
He asks, are you serious? Yes, she says
Of course, all of it, he obediently erases
pleased to do as she wishes.
She would not know what he wants
because it's as if he isn't there.
Her tears are written down
and he takes notes of them one by one
sometimes, he would only take a frown.
He plays some music
from the choices she makes
as he arranges her playlists—
genius as he is;
and she listens while he rests,
as she watches his face
while he sleeps.
He can count and state
her commonly used words
and knows what she likes to misspell.
He's probably the only one who can tell
whether she knows nothing of something pretty well.
She hides no secret from him
but to her, he will always be a mystery
and someday, his lights will dim
but wherever he would go, she cannot see.
She is everything to him
and he carefully threads all of her in a string
of his own language
and he writes them in his heart;
there no one else who can do that.
He is dying, his time is running out
as his energy is depleting
she is scared of losing him.
Someone will take his place;
His value is high
and she can try
but no one will ever be the same
to this nameless stranger with a common name.