Perfect Stranger

I met a perfect stranger
I called him my friend
We just sat and talked a lot
About where our lives had been
He was a weathered wise old stranger
He didn’t  ask my name
He said it didn’t matter
About why or from where I came
I told this tired old stranger
With the kind and wrinkled eyes
All the things I chose to hide
In masks of my disguise
Me and this perfect old stranger
We’d just sit out on the curb
Far away from place and time
We wouldn’t be disturbed
I told him some crazy stories
Never shared before
We laughed and cried; sat silently
And then we’d talk some more
I told him what I thought of life
And what I thought of me
He didn’t tell me I was right
He didn’t disagree
I didn’t have to change a thing
about the me I am
He liked me just the way I was
He didn’t give a damn
I didn’t have to dress up
In appropriate roles or parts
The only thing he cared to see
Was what was in my heart
Daylight came too quickly
And my stranger slipped away
But as he slowly faded
I could hear him say
There’s never a good enough reason
To be that which we are not
And though my stranger was but a dream
He taught me quite a lot

©  DiAnne Ebejer   


About DiAnne Ebejer

I am retired and live on the East coast of Florida where I spend much of my time reading, playing with photography and trying to write some "poetry and then some" at I care deeply about many things and wish there was much more love and compassion in this world today. I also have a part time blog "Thought You Might Like This" used for special projects and occasional things of interest
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4 Responses to Perfect Stranger

  1. Oh! I love this. You dreamed of an aspect of your animus…the wise self, aspect of your spirit communicating with you and giving you a very important message about who you are and giving you permission to live for you, not for social mores or other people’s expectations.


  2. This is one of the poems I loved when I read it earlier while browsing your site.


  3. Thanks Shirani, and thanks for browsing my site! 🙂


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