A virus call

Our paths often coincide,
though I pray otherwise,
we cross, passing askances,
unintentionally intentional,
pretending to be strangers;
I look at banyan's boughs,
try to spot sparrow nests,
you gaze at the ground,
count same-size pebbles.
Things would be different,
with an unsent message,
or an unspoken word.
What would they be,
I can't imagine,
I don't wish to.

If only I could truncate
the seconds that mattered
or the minutes I cling to,
like the censored tapes.
Or at least I could erase
those parts of memory,
like old logs of virus scans.
Let a virus infect our brains
and eat away that data,
so that whenever again,
our paths coincide, we
save us the pretense,
to say the least.