How should I stop flicking through the pages of our memoirs?
To stop visiting the hysterical moments from our past?
I thought we would be old together,
share a bottle of wine together,
Cook and sing together,
All the planned trips and remixes we couldn’t last long enough to revel in.
It will bother me how we didn’t just fight our indifferences
Gathered our consciences to begin all over again.
You with your assertive persona
And mind filled with ambitions to attain.
Me with my timid nature
And uncertainty transpiring through my gaze.
Our becoming remains a mystery to the spectators;
Them not knowing of our confidences to one another.
The hasty conversations,
Reminders of our literature,
The saved contacts and unreturned books;
Our decisions ridiculing us every time we lock eyes.
I cannot read you hidden behind the clouds of desolation,
Wonder if our resemblances also extend to our present doom of melancholy,
Or was it just affixation due to our agony?
Foolish of me to say it was an ordeal of pain.
Maybe the delights were hidden behind the disdains.