An Approach

Sitting in an open field, what else could I do but contemplate the face of a stranger. He was, in fact, looking at me, which made me feel that he was contemplating my own face. His own face of a stranger. Though I wasn't a stranger, I knew perfectly well who I was, it was he who was the stranger. It is absurd to think that I were the stranger in our relationship when I had known myself for at least twenty years. His existence, for all I knew, had lasted mere seconds. How was I to know he had lived before I had decided to contemplate his beaming face? How dare he consider me a stranger! I could gather a petition with at least dozens of signatures verifying that I am, in fact, familiar! It was with great fervor that I decided to approach the stranger and reprimand him harshly for his brutal attack on my character. As I stood toe to toe with the man, however, I quickly realized I didn't know who I was or anybody that did.