I don't fully understand her past.
I mean, she never really speaks of it.
But I guess it still shows through.
In the way she carries herself.
In the moments of awkward silence.
In her delicate step on the bare hardwood floors.

I suppose we all change.
But she has most certainly changed.
I doubt I would have recognized her back then.
I may have passed her on the sidewalk.
Without even a second glance.
Without knowing she was really there.

But now all that is past.
Now we stand together.
Bound, as it were.
In temporal locality.
Sharing in secrets.
That only we shall know.

by Charles Fry
"Bakery Square"