I had days with ponytails and slanted bangs, motionless minds, stained hands. The girls talk about being brave and we remember, until this day, how I used to chase this little boy around the classroom all the time because I thought he had a nice face
all within his crooked teeth and buzzcut hair.
Those were from my days of not being scared.
It had took me ten years to finally find the confused tall boy I fell for back then when he cried beside the slide at the playground.
I didn't know how to express back then.
He wore red tracksuit back then.
I once chased him until he kissed the tar road back then.
He once secretly placed a strawberry icecream on my table back then.
Those were from my days of trying to feel.
It takes me down to imagine ten years before like I never realize that within me are another lot of different me. Like a russian doll. I'm aware the universe has endless funny tricks up its sleeve for each of us but I never imagined this:
he's oceans away now, under the same sky still, just more sky between our skies.
He never wore braces so he still have the little gap between his teeth and the scar supposedly on his jaw, from when a little girl in her silly school uniform pushed him a little too hard on the way home, diminished.
I've lost track of who the fuck I'm supposed to display when I see him. The melancholy was just of the reminiscement of yesteryear, not of the person itself but I would love to know what ten years did to this person. He'd be surprised if he were to know my voice is barely audible when I talk now. God. He'd laugh if he were to know that because I used to talk as if I'm shouting all the time back then.
Perhaps, this is a re-collision that is to be held back. I am incapable, for the moment, of knowing a different version of the same person I had knew years back then. May fate and its twisted narration of progress brings me to you back when the stars align. Again.
