The English Way

Not to make this effort would now be rude. Not the English way

I crossed the street while you were still afar

barely within notice

I had planned it carefully

But it never turns out that way

Life rarely consults our rehearsals.

It began, as these things do,

with walking

Clearing my thoughts along the same path,

each day through the neighbourhood,

I noticed you

Then your scent as you passed me by

Then the rhythm of your steps.

Everyday.

We nodded.

Acknowledging existence

Nothing more

You passed with your two Terrier dogs

A perfect snapshot.

A postcard is briefly animated

Routine grew into a habit

Habit into expectation

Expectation into quiet hope

Everyday.

From afar, the sight of you became my small fortune.

Each step brought me closer —

to fate,

to possibility,

to a future I dared not name

Everyday.

I waited.

Without knowing you,

yet wishing I did.

How long until water becomes ice?

Who speaks first?

Who risks warmth?

You, across the street

Big brown eyes beneath a beret

Too long without conversation

Too long without your name

Stranger on my path —

a path you borrowed,

although I claimed it first.

I imagined your life.

Your rooms

Your laughter

Your lover

In my supreme insolence

I carried you in my mind

without consent.

Stranger, who are you?

We cross on opposite pavements.

parallel lines pretending to meet

I thought of coffee

Of rain

Of walking together one day

Perhaps you felt it too

Are you lonely?

Everyday.

And then, that perfect London morning,

as the distance between us dissolved,

I stopped

Eye contact.

A pause

Two seconds

Or three

One less would be safer

One more would be confession

It was not an ambush

I chose that day

To cross

To speak

To pet your dogs

To ask your name

You had resided in my mind long enough

Not to make this effort would now be rude. Not the English way

So I crossed.

And halfway down the street,

someone else reached you first.

You laughed.

He touched your arm.

He knew your name.

And I collapsed

like wet cardboard in the Thames.

But I briefly came to life to witness

Her dogs viciously attack him

as he was about to lean in for a loving kiss.