Maybe one day you’d find my poems in books or see them framed and hanged on walls of famous restaurants whose owners I’ve befriended.

I hope you’d carefully read each line and somehow realize they sound like the ones I’ve always written for you before we drifted apart.

I hope you’d feel the familiarity when you mouth the words like something you thought you loved crawling out its way from your throat.

Maybe one day, we’d sit across each other at a cozy coffee shop. Not saying a word but both aware of each other’s presence.

You would read your book while I’m absorbed with something else, and I would be afraid of looking at your direction.

You’d cut your hair shorter, you wouldn’t wear glasses anymore and maybe you’d be a little fairer than I remember.

Maybe one day, we’d bump into each other and we’d finally talk and laugh on how you used to take control over me.

How your skin, your lips, your smile drove me at the edge of a cliff, but it’s in the past by then.

We would wave goodbye and I wouldn’t feel pained anymore unlike the last time we parted ways