Sometimes battle fields come disguised as tended gardens while scars parade themselves like beautiful, permanent tattoos. Do you remember déjà vu, do you remember remembering me? Do you remember seeing me for the first time and feeling like we’ve been here before?
I know that it isn’t that you didn’t care but it’s that you never knew how. I believed you the first time you showed yourself to me, so am I a fool to believe you now? I know it wasn’t easy to admit that you felt something genuine that night we walked to the local taxi rank and you squeezed my hand as though to let me know that you couldn’t believe that I was real. Nothing about that evening was superficial, neither was the laughter and the silly bantering.
I see now, that the constant withdrawals weren’t that you didn’t know yourself, but that you knew yourself enough to know that there were parts of you that only you knew how to get access to and that only you knew how to set free.
It doesn’t matter if I pushed too hard or that you gave too little, everything was enough for our season. We were two bare trees waiting for our blossoming and only one source of sunshine could help us grow and by this, we had to let each other go.
They say that nothing lasts forever yet for every action there’s a re-action, re-curring, re-cycling and re-playing scenes from different lifetimes and timelines; masquerading memories that live on even long after we’re gone.
Do you remember déjà vu? I remember it like it was yesterday. The sweetest taboo and the wildest rendezvous. And while you left before the flowers could bloom, I’m glad to have experienced a slice of heaven in you.