A Perfect Stranger

I adore silent conversations, because so much is expressed in the way we look at each other, so many secrets remain secrets, so many feelings flow gently without interfering with our emotions and an ambience of a moment is created by our hearts beating.

Wordless time can be richer in thoughts than a stream of spoken sounds.

While walking by a fence of the Botanic Garden, in Cambridge, a perfect stranger passed by and without looking at me, took his hat off.

There were no other people around and a Perfect Stranger was moving on, as if nothing happened.

Maybe his gesture had nothing to do with me?

Maybe he takes his hat off as a matter of principle, while passing another human being?

Maybe he actually wasn’t a Perfect Stranger, but a friend I played with in a kindergarten all those years ago?

Maybe temporarily he was a Perfect Stranger, but it was our common destiny to become close in some distant future?

Maybe he will save my life?

Maybe I will save his?

Maybe he thought the same; maybe the Perfect Stranger greeted me as a fellow Perfect Stranger?