Hello from faraway.

Strange fancies.

You know what, being a stranger, I really like that. Being new to everything; no one knowing your name. You, not knowing anyone. You, with no expectations from anyone, to anyone.

You can be real or pretend the next day. You’re just, you know, a spectator. An invisible one. Looking at fellow strangers’ eyes; conversing with them, sharing a sheepish smile or a snobbish look. You don’t care so much about all the little things that surround you, and that actually fancy you. Because that’s your job being a stranger. 

Being a stranger, it is superficial and deep. It is obvious and not so. It makes you happy and lonely. It makes you, you. 

Two weeks.