Strangers in the Night

I often sit under the moonlight and listen to what the night has to offer; 

Sometimes it offers more than you think. 

I listen to the soft rustling of the leaves, 

The crispy cold breeze that blows through my hair, 

And the gentle touch of the night. 

One night, I see someone sitting at my sacred spot. 

I wonder what brings them here so late. 

I walk up to the bench and take a seat on the other end of the bench. 

“Who are you?” I ask, voice soft as a sigh. 

“Who am I?” they murmur, a faraway reply. 

I gaze at the stranger, 

and the only person I see is myself staring back at me, 

I have become a stranger to … 

myself.