Her toes tease the pull my feet lay idle on
I am drawn by almond clefts that claim eyes
Saw a scene I can’t recall.
I want to touch her, is she soft?
Or are her fingertips calloused with the earth’s dirt she doesn’t bother shed?
I crouch to her level, fumbling for a dialogue that can gauge her attention
undivided at the skies instead.
I wonder then perhaps, does she find me beautiful?
She doesn’t hold a gaze to my face,
Maybe I am unimpressive then
My hand grapples a weight latched to my chest,
but is catching cloth that clings to trembling skin
I’m terrified of you
Till dainty fingers lace themselves around mine
I want to hold you
I want you to like me
We can’t.
Then I wake and she’s gone
At the pit of my chest like residual tar
because she wasn’t meant to be here
She was destined for the beautiful part of a daydream
And me bones with flesh to evolve farther apart from her
this poem captures a moment in a dream where i met my younger self. i found that i admired her but she was indifferent toward me. the more we gained proximity and interaction, the more detached she became. it is hence a piece of admiration toward what i used to be and the inability to understand what i have become today.