For a long time, I met the eye, of every tall stranger I passed.
it might be love.
This could be it.
I’d linger longer over the ones,
of appropriate age,
they would call me back; or write a letter to the Missed Connections, citing my height and intense eyes, so I would know it was me.
That happened rarely,
like a blue moon, but enough to make me insanely believe in blue moons.