There needs to be no compassion among strangers. In return for money, a shopkeeper sells you goods, a maid cleans your home, a consultant solves your problem, a driver drives you to your destination... This is business, a means of livelihood for us social creatures, to sustain our appetites, to sleep comfortably, to live our lives... A conversation with a stranger that you are interacting with for "strictly business" is honest and candid.
As we were stuck in traffic, I constantly kept on thinking to myself if I should have told you the things I did last night. It is not that I did not feel them, mean them, wish for them, but if it was appropriate at this time. Although, through the shared dishes and the comfortable dreams, it appears to me that I have known you a long time, I smile in amazement when I realize our destinies only intersected a few, short months ago. Can such hopes be planted so early? Am I unintentionally planting hurt? You sat glistening radiant next to me, your porcelain skin glowing in the crimson dusk, your hands tender, your lips pursed in a lonesome thought of leaving... I would never want to see hurt in your eyes.
Did I say it too early?
As the traffic eased and I relaxed, I looked at you again. I saw your eyes, and thought of how, through the times we'll separate, you'll hide me tender in your velvet heart...
We arrived. Early. I smiled.
Then, the driver, the stranger, the businessman, out of the blue, told me who you were. Nobody asked him, and he had no reason to lie.
The stranger told me you were my lady. He told me to be patient with you. No. He was not the first. And he is far, far from the last.
It is thus I found the answer to my question. The answer was no, I did not say it too early.
All this transpired without a word from me to you. When you turned to say goodbye, I did not hold you embarrassingly tight. I kissed your hand. Because you are my lady, and I should not need a stranger to remind me what is most beautiful in my life.