Should I know you, should I not?
Have I mistaken yours for another face—
A child, a lover, a long-lost friend,
Or, perhaps, a reminder of my yesterdays?
Aflutter between you and I,
Flights of faerie butterflies
Tickle the silence with an illusory past—
A whim, a regret or a fantasy, perhaps?
Perhaps, a scion sprouting on a coppiced heart,
Perhaps, a déjà vu grafted from a different fate—
Upon which this fortuity is chanced a lifetime late.
Although the moon is silver, the stars aligned,
The strangers remain two strangers still tonight;
Or, perhaps, between you and I,
Dear stranger of mine,
Our distance is but time.
2019 has been a year of many uncertainties. I’m nonetheless grateful for the breakthroughs on which I set my mind to attain. Today’s scribble is a backlog that has almost escaped me in this hectic season, when the mind—if left untamed—would rather flirt with the illusory than outgrow its fears and worries for the tangible. In the midst of it all, something must go and make way for the others. And, so, here it is, a little piece to bring some sense of closure to a year that has been left pretty much wide open.