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 am 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,
left only 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 as heavy bones 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 a piece of admiration toward what i used to be and the inability to recognise what i have become today.