Intersected

Written by Jacob Ibrag

You catch me off guard sometimes.

I’d start talking to a  friend and you’d

creep behind him, and the conversation

would die. I’d laugh a bit while my friend

would stare with glaring confusion. He’d

look back and see a  guy try to hail an

impossible cab and a homeless man

holding up a sign. Years later and I still

occasionally see that smile painted across

a billboard and those eyes borrowed by

random strangers. There was a time when

I wanted nothing more than to purge you

from my mind, to erase your name that

still carries so much weight.  After awhile

I learned to embrace what we used to be

and what we couldn’t. I wanted to go left

and you needed to be right. I swear though

there was a moment when we intersected

and everything made sense, until it didn’t.

Photography by Iulia Pironea