i pondered upon the locus of where our roads met
and gathered my bearings at the sight of a smile
that crept up the right corner of your lip
i could've sworn i'd left
my heart somewhere down the cracked,
foliated pavement in my journey
towards my own solace,
but i found myself retracing my steps;
and, for a second time around,
i considered taking it with me
scooping it up with both hands,
you carefully placed it in mine—
and a lump in my throat had formed
where my seemingly perpetual
vocal nonacceptance of intimacy took place
there was a tenderness i could not fathom
even when you idled with me
on a rusty park bench and
we lingered at our own pace
i bathed in the comfort of your company,
and although i had always enjoyed
those who were able to finish my sentences,
you spoke all that was in my head
before i had the slightest chance
to utter them
"would you like to go together?"
you mouthed the words finally,
silently—but loud enough for me to hear
what a dream; like two rivers
meeting into something bigger
"i'd like that," i replied—
the walk with you was silent,
and the fallen leaves rustled loudly
at the place where my heart used to be
painting by:
Postcard by Provence
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