30/05/2025
What If
What if you left no postcard, bought no souvenir,
But someone remembers the way you laughed—
How your clumsy Flemish tangled with their English,
until meaning arrived, not through words,
But the warmth of a shared smile?
What if you still hear their voice, saying, “Follow me,”
like a secret only the two of you could keep,
leading you down streets you’d never planned to walk,
to corners where the city whispered its true name?
What if you tasted cuberdons from a vendor’s cart,
and the sweetness lingered long after the sugar dissolved—
not in your mouth, but in the way a stranger’s eyes crinkled
As they taught you to say “dank u wel” through sticky lips?
What if you helped repaint a fading mural in Werregarenstraat,
your hands stained with colors you can’t name,
leaving behind a brushstroke no guidebook will ever frame,
But a teenager points to it weeks later and says,
“See? That’s where someone cared.”
What if you danced badly to a busker’s accordion songs,
And the coins you tossed were not for music,
But for the unspoken pact that joy needs no translation?
What if you sat on the edge of a canal at twilight,
sharing fries with someone whose name you forgot,
while the water held your reflections like a borrowed map—
Two strangers tracing routes they’ll never take again?
No numbers exchanged, only moments.
No souvenirs, only stories.
And when you left, you carried a map
drawn not on paper, but in the quiet marks
of a stranger’s kindness—
and the city, once foreign,
now lives in the curve of your remembering.
