I never knew when it all became so complicated. When I started rewriting definitions, drafting terms of engagement. I do not remember when I stopped having time for those who love me and started finding time chasing those who dont. I dont remember when I grew up, when I became just another face in the dumb fucking crowd, when I stopped tipping the poor beggar woman on the corner or the young kid of the tea stall owner. I have no clue when I forgot . . . Remembering you.
If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.
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