Story
I ask him to take a picture
of the ocean for me
knowing full this wanderlust
would not retreat
to the long-forgotten alleys.
I ask him to bring back
a handful of stories
sprinkled with mirth and laughter
knowing well that a twist of fate
would take him
to a new land, yet farther.
He asks me to meet him
in the dead of night
and live with him, someday.
The ticking clock of the hopeless
pulls us away with each glance.
There is a road beckoning him
and laughing at my clumsiness.
I would go with him if I could
asked me once, if he would.
He takes my left hand
and squeezes it with his
just when we stand by the
busy marketplace, the two of us
he smiles, says
it’s part of being ourselves.
I like the sound of his voice,
he doesn’t require
the sound of mine.
I could lose a day
gazing at his fixed smile,
while he narrates a tale.
I think I know the fear
dwelling in this heart of mine;
I don’t want to be
just another of his stories, with time.
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