RANDOM

It's so careless the way we pass each other by. There are so many strangers I walk by everyday. They mean nothing to me and I nothing to them. We don't say hello or even smile at each other. There is nothing between us--there is no distance between us and there is still nothing. We could brush each other in the crowd--touch--and they would still be nothing.

It's the way it is for who has the time to fall in love with every stranger. We are determined to keep them at arm's length, far away so that we won't fall in love with them. For, if we do, we must care. And we don't want that. Caring is too troublesome. Who needs another needy soul to think about?

But we let these things slip by so carelessly. One never knows what that stranger may be to them--a dear friend, a constant enemy, a sweet lover--not strangers.

But we continue to walk down the streets, eyes fixed ahead and mouths set in stern lines, not a smile to spare. We are determined to remain strangers.