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in a distant memory,
where april's breeze unknot its softest rage,
it landed ungracefully on your unkempt hair—
the strands as that of sunset streaks
leaking, pouring into your head.

in the distant memory,
i saw you as a boy sailing into the horizon—
albeit unsure of what's north, you will swim without an anchor.
but that's just another pseudo belief
written in stars and planets and its confusing axial movements.

i do not know you.
but i am writing you a piece
channeling my thoughts.
maybe this is prejudice in its rawest form.
so forgive me,
if i can only afford a handful of hydrangeas
and name it yours disguised as metaphors.

i kind of felt like i knew you—
in between book pages...
where I am unsure of what i remembered
and what to hope of what's coming,
you put me on edge yearning for a play,
a plot to unfold the proclivity of
events or maybe that's what made you;
you are like a thousand filmstrips,
a series of choices, a flashing memory.
and oh, i am envious.
you feel like an inertia,
a will, a driving conscious form in flesh.

i kind of felt like i knew you—
in between the poetic landscapes
that won't rhyme but the context was there
refusing to show itself.
but i guess that's what poets always talk about—
poems and its course of idiosyncratic notions,
i have a feeling i knew you in some sixth sense reality
where space bends and time warps—
love, in ways that aren't invested just yet.

i kind of felt like i knew you—
in between nerve endings
unable to meet, the synaptic gap
leaving me wistful of something fleeting,
leaving me hanging by a bandwidth of thread,
but i know you exist somewhere beneath the surface.
you are a dilemma at the brink of happening.

you fascinate me in sheer honesty.
i thought maybe in another wavelength of existence
i'd get to ask something...
something maybe too mundane,
too ordinary but here, in the flesh of poetry,
"can we be friends?"

— nana, "you are too pretty for a poem like this"

ps. i wrote this for someone i like and he got to read this too :>

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