Part of me worries I will
miss (the thought of, the idea of)
you always.
I talk (think) about
running into you as though
it’s inevitable.
Like the changing of
the seasons or our birthdays
falling within a 6-day radius
each year, but truthfully, there
are 1.3 million people in this city.
We could co-exist in the same city
and never cross paths (again).
We could walk the streets of the same city,
lead different lives in the same city,
be happy (and apart) in the same city,
so close, yet on the other side of the world in
the same city.