When we meet again,
the wounds you caused me
and, too, the ones I caused you,
maybe, have healed.
And we would stare at each other
like we've seen a familiar stranger.
A stranger once a friend
but pretended to be a lover,
turned into a real one
yet ended,
again,
as a stranger.
A kind of stranger
that once read you
a book of fairytale,
made it happen to you
yet reached the tragic ending.
And that stranger
our gaze were fixed upon,
will look away.
And, maybe,
we both will feel nothing but happiness,
and we'll smile in the realization that
we are each other's best strange mistake.
YOU ARE READING
He
PoetryA book he holds with countless pages, His eyes heal, and his love reads. This story contains prose and short poetries that is all about a man's point of view of love and life.
