If I were, let's say,
Out somewhere on a pedestrian kind of day,
Wasting more of autumn so that I needn't think,
Would you recognize what we were?
Would you want to stop to say hello?
Would you take a page from your book?
I'm not sure that I
Would.
Or Could, either. You were always more the freewheeling, wasn't that the case?
And I will be drawn-out and too exact if we talk, but,
"Maybe 'always' is just so reductive."
But you, the old you, the younger you, Saturn.
That was someone who might, maybe, could have said, hello. "If 'hello' is a placeholder in this context."
But taking a planet to your Name and moving onto someone else is line-changing. How do I read it, your face, is it the same or am I still lying to myself. Where are we in this mess? Is there a mess? Am I overreacting? Shall I run this down before it ever has a chance to surface?
Never liked that you quit after one semester. Or maybe two, or maybe during, hell, what would I know. But since we're here.
And L, J, and V,... were those your parents' ideas, or Venus', or....?
Nevermind, don't worry about it. I won't want to remember anyways.
But we both know what this is like. We just don't know what the other person knows. Maybe you will stick close to dreams with colours from Auntie Bellam, but that kind of cramped, desperate line of thought is what I know too well, and you'd be cramping my style.
| |
Dearest Reader,
I do not know you.
Maybe someone I once was...
You do not know me.
¿When would you have?
And I don't want to go through it again.
I know, you surely understand.
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