with time dressing all wounds leisurely,
do you think memories are nocturnal?
emerging only when the night is dark
enough – or do you think a layer of dust
coats everything indiscriminately?
is the story of us a first draft you’d
soon forget, or something you’d
cherish in secret – blooming lilacs,
lavenders, and lilies as obscure
easter eggs for an audience of two?
in life, there are people whose
idiosyncrasies linger with you
till they become a part of you.
some people are greater than
life itself, i know this because
i’ve seen glimpses of it in you.
i aspire to be a permanent
footnote in the story