At the end of the day

S

It’s strange but I don’t miss you
anymore.
And I no longer mind
if you don’t quite reply.
Perhaps we’ve run out of things
to talk about.
Or maybe we might have
moved on
with our busy lives.
Or
it might simply be the rain.
Yes, that must be it.

Those weird smiley replies,
those half-hearted “how are you’s”,
those silences.
That placid romanticism,
those uncharted poems
and ideals in life. Those
crooked fingers,
that sleepiness,
those childish longings and knowing
smiles. They
have fled,
blown by the howling winds
outside.

And next thing I know you’ll
be telling me, this was
your plan all along,
or some other excuse
that shows you’re
in control.
You’re funny that way!
So easy to read. But then,
you’ll surprise me
with a scathing rebuke
or maybe
a loving good-bye.
And I wouldn’t know
who you are again.

I’d get to know you
like the first time.
We’d be strangers
on a summer’s day,
looking at different things,
tracing the movements
of clouds and balloons
in the sky.

I would revoke these messages
and memories
and start all the way
to the end.
Until everything
is forgotten.
Until ‘you’
are
forgotten.
And this end
would again begin
with an innocent
and intimidated
‘hi’

First Published on August 1, 2012

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