For the life of me I can't figure out what race you are. There are moments when I convince myself you were some kind of shape shifter. In the produce section you looked Vietnamese, in the frozen food aisle - blacker than the smooth running waters of the Nile at midnight. Then, I saw you when you were checking out and I would've bet dollars to donuts you were fresh off the boat from Brazil. Whether it's some kind of cursed magic they endow the lighting at Safeway with or the delirium of love at first sight, the cruelest trick of all would be us never connecting. Break the spell of my disenchanted solitude and let me know that magic is as real as we make it.
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