The only thing more disorienting than the assymetrical sway was the perpetual ruffle of her hair signed by the wind so much you could not see her face 

If you dig three times in the same spot the second time is the furthest you’ll get.  

It didn’t help we were sitting on ten metres of concrete waiting not to go deeper by to be zapped beyond into the icy ether. We were both out of place. So the cryptic poetry seemed not only fitting but worthwhile as I hoped the least she was chuckle and the most she would devolve into a stimulating cloud that we my bask in for the moments until our transport would grace us 

But subtle whispers traveled much too far in the barren basin of our past. Few if any ever came back. To the now glorified tourist planet. A rusty old toy that could barely garner a conversation out there let alone a 20 minute ride back to the origin. 

60 interplanetary spaceways were developed. Shuttling billions of times a dawn drawing  in billions of sunzens ever second like pawns 

But here on the old front just one space way. One shuttle. One time every month. A barren wasteland akin nothingness with a hope of a chirp and a blackened turf overrun by concrete and nothingness. 

Her hand combed through her flowing short jet black hair exposing just her porcelain freckled nose. And so I took this opportunity to explain the paradoxical mush. 

It’s a cheeky metaphorical you see. Doing the same thing three times seldom if ever produces new information. That’s why we only turn two cheeks. 

One is a curiosity. Two is a pattern and three is just confirmation we probably never needed. 

Maybe that’s why we are both here. On an abandoned rock hoping many would come storming back inflating the air with exuberance and mirth unbecoming of its grandeur. To fertilise the echoes with real conversation and douse the trees with energy and colour. A long stride from the muck that we took. To allow a few special idiots int suits the bluff us off our spot. A chase away from the glisten above the grey just outside the garden. 

So the man looked up hoping to draw her in that much more. To combine their essence in a moment of clarity on this hazy day 

But once again she did not do much. Acknowledging nothing of him a chance right outside his reach. 

But then poetically the figure of the beautiful woman began to glitch a few times before the hologram disappeared. 

The number of his trips had become innumerable a ghostly admission of irony nestles just behind the eyes he ignored each trek. A forlorned hope of finding another troubled soul ready to make the journey. Ready to re submerge their brain into a the beauty of serendipity. 

But that faded much like the silence as his transport had finally come. Silver and black with blue lights barrelling towards him. And in monotonous strides he would make his way back, climbing on to the transport once again. Only to be greeted by muted faces. Glitching in and out. Batteries low stuff even lower. But once against he’d pathetically turn another cheek hoping one day he’d Sit down. Whisper his strange stories and with luck one would actually talk back