The Boy at the Corner Store

{I realized that my poems don't make sense. LOL.}

I pass by that shop everyday.
It's a parlor that offers
Illustrations for your needs.
Honestly, I could care less about the shop;
It never did stand out in a sleepless city like here.
Each and every single time I pass however,
Our eyes have met.
A murky brown colour, one with a sense of mystery to them.
They weren't odd by any means,
They were in fact way too average.

Although his eyes weren't the flashiest, or even the prettiest,
They stood out and shined more than any illustration there.


Perhaps he anticipates my next passing,
And perhaps I anticipate it too.
We're strangers, nothing more, nothing less.
I left without a word.

Will he still be here, in this flashy parlor,
When I turn the corner next time?
I'll learn to greet him
The next time our eyes meet.