Synchronicity

She was a driver on the Metro.  Dark skin, long black hair and eyes like hot coals.  A single look revealed our synchronicity.

We walked up to the street, falling behind the others.  No one thought to look for me as the crowd moved on.

I don’t remember who spoke first, but it seemed as though we knew each other.  No introduction needed.

This was her last stop of the day.  She carried a bag on her shoulder – soft leather, tan.  I was carrying my pack to the ferry.  Someone may have called back.

We stood on a patch of grass as words flowed in streams of excitement. 

She asked if I was leaving.  I said I was, and nodded in the direction of the docks.

She stared at the ground, then looked into my eyes and said: So we’ll never see each other again.  It was both question and statement.

I told her I believed that Heaven knew we must.

She pulled something from her bag – a small talisman – and handed it to me.

Keep this until we do.

I had nothing too give her.  She shook her head and smiled.

The embrace was involuntary and spontaneous.  She whispered:  Heaven knows, and I know in my heart.

One short, sweet kiss. 

When we opened our eyes, we were standing on separate shores.