Driving with Ikuni yesterday, on a two-lane street lined with cafes, bookstores and antique shops, I saw a young woman walking alone. She wore an over-sized button-down shirt, her hair needed brushing, and it looked like she had a beer in her hand. She was walking slowly, deliberately. She was not smiling.
As I drove past, our eyes met. There she was, living her life, and as I type this, now, is out there, doing something. A person with a past. Someone who has awakened each morning—for years. Someone who has had conversations and experiences and thoughts. Someone I may never see again and who may never see me. But for one split second, we knew the other existed.