Meeting

Imagining meeting you, I open the door and there you are. You are not as I expected at all. Your hair color is ordinary, your clothes, your stance, unremarkable, but as soon as you start to speak I hear two languages at once. Not that you are dishonest, but the things you cannot say in one language hover just at the edge of my hearing, in that other language which conveys them perfectly. Befuddled, I drop the package you hand me. Something in it shatters. Your tears fall, and I see joy.

Nothing else ever needs to happen.