Hidden

Insite into a typical Sunday morning.

Two thousand souls enter each week, but two alone are drawn instantly.
Brushing past in crowded corridors avoiding contact. Glimpsing shoes, shoulders, chin, hair.  Curiosity waits for a view of the smile that held a promise of eternity.

A small voice shatters the memory.

“Mommy, why is that man looking at you?”          

“He is just someone that I used to know long ago.”

“Don’t you know him anymore?”

“No honey, I don’t think I do.”