The Same Time Everyday

I would see you everyday in the same spot sketching. Everyday at 6:33pm, there you were sitting on a bench in the park, sketching. Sketching what exactly, I don't know. I walk past you everyday after a long day at University, and everyday you look up, give me a small smile and continue drawing. Why you smile? Again, I don't know, but every time you smile, I return it. Why I smile at you? That I do know.

You're dark blue jeans that hug your legs perfectly while you're sitting cross-legged draws me to you.

The hooded sweater you were that hangs loosely against your body captivates me.

The hood you put on that hides the curly black hair you have, makes me wonder why you hide such beautiful hair.

The worn out Converses wants me to ask you whether you own any other pairs of shoes.

These small things about you, that I see for the, about, thirty seconds I see you, fascinates me.

The hazel eyes that look up at me every time I walk past are warm, yet guarded. All these things make me smile at you.

Your beauty is hidden, and you may not know it but you have an aura that reminds me of the simple things in life. I didn't know your name, yet I felt as I know everything about you, just from those thirty seconds I see you. I don't know you, but what I do know is that you sit there everyday at 6:33pm, when I'm going home from Uni, sketching.

I walk home after having a horrible day at school. I lost my assignment, I spilt coffee all over one of my professors, I shouted at a new year student and missed an important lecture all because I lost track of time trying to type up the said assignment I lost. All in all, I wasn't having a good day, but the thought of walking past you, and seeing that smile of yours and seeing those old worn out Converses made my day a bit sunnier.

However, as I walk past your normal spot, you're not there. I stop and stare at the place you're meant to be. I blink, a wave of questions overcome me.

Why aren't you there? Being the favourite.

I sigh frustrated and continue on my trek home. It was no wonder I didn't like today. I kick an innocent rock lying by with my own Converses. I'm mad at you for not being there. I'm mad at you for getting my hopes high, just for you to just crush them. I don't even know you yet you get me so wound up. I shift my bag and shove a hand in my pocket and continue home to my apartment where I know my roommate is, with a hangover and even possibly with another girl in his bed. I make a mental note to look for a new room mate, although I know I'll never have the heart to kick out my best friend of 12 years.

I shake my head trying to clear some of the mess that's ridden up. As I'm about to leave the park I hear a female voice shout out from behind me, but it's not my name, so I continue on. She was probably calling her friend, but the shouting continues, as do I. All of a sudden I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump up in surprise and turn around. It's you.

"Hey," you say in a small voice. You're hood is down, probably from the running you did to catch up with me. Now I can see the bangs you have and I see that you have long, curly hair. You're looking up at me with your hazel eyes full of nervousness yet excitement.

"Hi," I reply. I push my brown hair out of my chocolate brown eyes. I see your eyes roam my hair with a small smile on your delicate face. You thrust something towards me.

"Here. I was in the coffee shop across the road, finishing it off and I lost track of time and I realised I was going to miss you, but I saw you and well here I am," you ramble on with a slight tinge of pink on your already rosy cheeks. I take the rolled up paper out of your hands. "You can look at it later or now if you want." I decide with the latter.

I open up the paper you give me. On there is a drawing of me, standing there with one hand on my bag pack and another shoved inside my pocket. It's amazing to see. The detail on there, the way the picture showed nearly every strand of hair, the way my jeans hung, how one side of the collar on my shirt always popped up slightly, the dimple I got on my left cheek when I smile...everything about the picture screams out talent.

"You're always like that, walking everyday. It's just amusing to see you at the same time everyday. Don't get freaked out or anything it's just…amusing…and yeah I just thought I'd draw it," you say to me. I can sense the nervousness and fear coming off you. You glance up at me to see my reaction, I give you a huge grin.

"If I could draw I'd draw you sitting, cross legged on that bench with your old converses. I'd draw you in your jeans and hooded sweater, with the hood always put up. I'd draw your black curly hair. But then again, I can't draw…so I think I'll stick with the real you."

You blink up at me, and a huge smile slowly spreads across your face. The tint of pink on your face fades slightly, leaving you with your naturally rosy cheeks. You stick your hand out.

"Maria," you say. I take your hand, it's small in mine, and much softer. I hold it softly, afraid that I'd break it.


That set it. You became my friend and I became yours. You became my girlfriend in time, and lastly my wife. Your gorgeous smile never faded through the years. You're old converses lay in a box under the bed so you could remember the days you wore only them.

You're picture of me…that hangs on a wall in your Art Gallery, under the heading, 'The Same Time, Everyday'. People wonder in amusement as to what that could mean. We'd share a smile, sharing the little secret that we had, about those thirty seconds we saw each other.

"Strangers are friends you have yet to meet."

Wow, I wrote in the POV of a guy…hopefully you noticed it is in a guy's POV. It's boring, and clichéd, I know, but I was tired from all studying, so I whipped this up! :P