My Dearest Xxxxxxxx,
I missed you today, it was hard to do otherwise. I can’t quite remember why, but I did, more than I’d like to admit.
Maybe it was the frantic mother, as she screamed your name into the crowd. I watched, as her little brown eyed angel ran back into her arms. Tears, streaming down her sun scorched face.
Maybe it was the office girl. A blonde of five feet and six, as she dropped her name card. I picked it up with a smile, her name, just a letter different.
It could have been the feisty lady in red, cigarette in hand, as her venomous whispers pierced my ears. I wondered if she was talking about you. Clearly, she was referring to someone else.
Maybe it was me, maybe I imagined it all.
It wouldn’t quite explain the stain on my trouser knee, from where I knelt, as I gave the child a toffee. It wouldn’t quite explain the crumpled business card, in my left shirt pocket. But it most definitely wouldn’t explain the smudged cigarette ash, on my left shoe, from when I leaned for a closer listen.
It seems like I chose to find you, in the many parts of my day. Seems like I didn’t have to look that hard.