Broadway

I ran into you on Broadway one afternoon in August. You rolled your own tobacco and I fell in love with the way your hands moved and the sun highlighted the warm tones of your skin. 

I ran into you on Broadway in March, seven months later. You walked with a sort of rhythmic balance with music blasting through your headphones. I ran out the Chase bank on hoping to catch up to you.

The brief seconds before I tapped you to say hello were the most suspenseful seconds yet. But you turned and smiled, and I caught the sun reflection in that smile, the stars and galaxies expanding for miles. 

So now I walk on Broadway everyday, hoping to run into you again, hoping to be a string of metaphors that you try to piece together in your head.