june sixteen

and i gave you my pen and told you scribble your thoughts out. and you scribbled bold alphabets. all over your palm and delicate fingers. a string of names i've never heard before. in a careful casual font -welcoming, to say the least. semi-cursive. crude and rich.

and i mapped dots through your eyes. remember when we used to run through the field. rustling across a puddle of dead leaf veins. and we looked at each other and giggled all the time. like seven-year-old clowns trapped in a shell of silliness. but we were not seven-year-olds. and remember, how we ploughed through the snow. you heaving. dark, mournful sighs that choked your mind. and then you would sit and collect snow flakes. curse all the time, because they melted through your fists. and you would say look at the stars. they're little flakes silly let them go, i would say. and you'd turn around with a violent swoosh. walk up ten steps. sit down and look outside. you hated snow. i remember. but you slipped away so easily. cast in a mold so that i could never reach you. good job i will say. atleast we are far apart. and i am out of pain. and i am away from all your ridicule. i know you are alive. somewhere, across the ocean.

the water still flows through me. sometimes.