He was sitting on a park bench,
staring at me all the while.
Later I saw him in the cafeteria
and in the library afterward.
Nobody saw him except me,
as if he was invisible to all others.
He was clad in a maroon shirt
and black pants.
He wore glasses,
A middle-aged man
of probably 45 years.
He came and sat beside me
on a park bench
on a Friday evening.
We talked and talked
of rainbows and valleys
of all the things you can think of.
That stranger became very close,
and we used to talk for hours each day.
We still do.
Only, now I know why no one can see him.
He is not real, you see.
But that doesn’t matter. Why should it?