Bright Black Eyes

I remember when I first meant him.

I was walking on the bridge. The one that I walked on every night to get home.

I knew that night was going to be different. It was to silent. The light bulbs in the street lights didn't even flicker like they normally did. Everything was silent right now. No cars drove by. Even the air seemed quieter. It was like everything knew he was coming. Waiting for him.

I was almost at the end of the bridge when I saw him. He was walking on the opposite side of the road, going the same way. Everything about him screamed avant-garde.

His different hair colors. The clothes he had on. His bright black, if that's even possible, eyes. Even how he walked.

Most guys his size, carrying a guitar, would be stiff. Walking like they were worried they were going to get mugged. But he didn't. It was like he had no care in the world.

There was something that made me want to go over and say hi to him. I was about to cross the road and do just that.

Then I blinked. And he disappeared. But it was okay.

Because I knew I was going to see him again.