I wonder if he wears slippers around the house or what drink he always orders at restaurants, or what his last thoughts are before his eyes close for the night.
I wonder what his hair smells like or what his skin feels like, or why he got each of the inked marks on his skin.
I wonder if he prefers texting or calling or if his mother sang him lullabies when he was a child, or what he feels like when he hears the rain falling.
But I am never goint to know what it's like to feel his skin pressed against mine or know what he likes in his coffee, or even if he likes coffee.
And I wonder why I love a stranger with all my heart and why someone who doesn't know my name means more to me, than I mean to myself.
De rustigste manier van zelfmoord is houden van een vreemdeling.