I will write and dream your dreams. I will tell your story and build you a universe. I will write your recipes with the precision of a chef. I will make you wish for love that is as complex as they are simple. The Stranger He was a stranger with an ease about him. Not just good people ease but the type you wouldn’t mind hanging around. He didn’t look like much, buried in khaki except for his white polo but his voice was nice. His complexion was tanned by the southern sun. A nice brown like lightly toasted bread or desert sand. His words were tickled with the tongue of his home but easy to understand. It had the ability to lull your senses like thunder in the distance or burning incense. He tinkered with a spark in his eye, giddy like a child with a new toy yet with a desire to conquer that was not childish at all. We spoke like old friends catching up. We talked eyes glossy at memories and voice robust at explanations as we shared our past. At some point, I noticed how your laugh meets your eyes and how leafy brown they were in the winter eve. You were cold stretching your legs when I took in your stature, much larger than I remember hours before, but still average. I wonder did you have a charm that made you seem smaller and less menacing or did you teach yourself that trick. I was startled when you told me not to be alarmed. I couldn’t help but feel small as though I was a feral animal and you had just wanted to offer me food. You thought I would fear you taking a phone call in your native tongue but in truth, I hoped I would hear it, wondered if it was sweet. You spoke words foreign to me as though they were a prayer into your phone not quite whispering but each word was soft and warm like drinking hot chocolate or resting by a fire. They went well with your cologne that seemed to dance with the evening breeze and consume me in your van along with the heat.