Him

I saw him once in a foggy daydream standing below a nights burning streetlamp.
He faced me, hands in the pockets of his long tailored coat. I knew him somehow but his name escaped me. I felt that if he would only speak his voice would clear my head, I would remember.
He looked like home and I so wanted to return, my eyes locked afraid to look away.
Half of my heart wept for needing him and the other rejoiced having not seen his face to miss.