New Jeanland

She smiled at me, like any stranger would,
Her lips curved, soft as a memory’s trace,
Fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face,
Eyes flickered, a flash of light, then gone,
Like shadows swallowed by the morning sun.

The air between us hummed with some unspoken thing,
She turned away, a sigh barely escaping.
A moment’s warmth, a flicker in the crowd,
But silence filled the space, too thick, too loud.

She passed as if she’d never been there,
Leaving only the scent of rain in the air.
And I stood, unsure if she was a dream,
Or just another face who’d seen, but didn’t see.

She smiled at me, like any stranger would.