Prone to Loving Strangers

There are new feelings stewing in strange big cities. You have to walk alone to feel them. You have to mosie alone to feel the humor, to walk at whatever pace and wonder in your smile whether the 10,000 strangers came just for you today. Just to feign business. That, had you not been here today, they wouldn't have bothered to get up and entertain. Just look at them. You are NO ONE to them; therefore, you are anyone to them. 
There's a man on the bench next to me, reading. He could change my life; I could change his...
But only alone.
Only when I'm free to yield to every uninspired impulse. Only when I am exactly who I want to be, unpolluted, seized by this second, can I find the right bench with the right person on it, who's feeling the right feeling, and wearing the right shirt. Sometimes you need to be pastless, with no certainty of a future to find something honest.

Flipping through the faces,
The idle strangers I own,
Inventing the kind ones to be: 
Any prince-charming who might think I'm beautiful and say so spontaneously,
Any philanthropic fellow who might have been a dear friend.

As they unfold into themselves,
They ruin the holiness of my vision.
Until finally I know it all
And finally, 
We've said everything.

And I find as I say goodbye:
He was a prince.
She was a dear friend.
And i will miss them.