In bouts of vulnerability, at times, I have let go.
Let go of the walls and bared my soul to the last tinkle of its being.
For every story with a new character, I remember:
standing there, and telling you — anything and everything.
How’d you take it? Did you think I was weird?
Did you take a step back? I now know you didn’t.
You know which chocolate my hand would reach out for,
bowlfuls of what food would I drown myself in,
and what Math sums mean to me.
My family, my friends, endless squabbles,
cycles of love — failed or unrequited, you’re aware.
You sit there listening to the playlist I once shared,
knowing where the songs came from, whom I played them for,
and picturing where I heard them — the first and last times.
You know crowds make me numb and flights make me cry,
and Bohemian Rhapsody could probably bring me back to life.
And yet, you’re there, far, far away from me.
The walls have been built back up, haven’t they?
Not that it matters if they’re yours or mine.
Yet, here I am, sending out a paper plane to you,
hoping it makes its way that far, to you.
To the once-confidant and now-stranger,
“Thank you, for listening and watching, and letting me in.”
Just between us, I hope the twin flame bruise didn’t end up painting you blue.
I never liked blue, unless it was the skies. Or it was you, smiling in it.
Bet you already knew that, didn’t you?
“Thank you, once again, for being a keepsake of the memories we share,
for not stripping down my soul to its barest state of existence.”
Today I smile at all the truths that lie hidden in still waters,
drifting between boats that do not seek comfort in each other anymore.
Sighing, I turn to my now-confidants and maybe-later-strangers,
“Thank you, for listening and watching, and letting me in.”
I am here, hiding in you, as I’ve hidden in others before,
with unsaid promises of secrecy, wishing you continue to do so too.
