Flowers and Lights (i)


I’ve never been able to hold up an entire conversation with you. I’ve heard  a lot about you, but a little from you.  We’ve lived inside the same story for quite some years and at times we were even on the same paragraph someone chanced to read. Sometimes even the same line or sentence! You’ve been a hundred stories to me.
I’ve looked and overlooked and looked again to see if you’re alright and you’ve seen and overseen and seen again how I wasn’t. We were too afraid of the voices we heard through telephone lines to confide in each other the stories we were certain were true but chose not to believe in.
I see you admist the flowers and lights today… but I also see the hundred stories you left bookmarks for me to read from. I see you as a champion, but I also see you ten feet underwater making your way to the title. I see you as the break through of all of everything but I also see the break in you, I see you on the headlines but I also see your name scratched off a list so much so that there’s not a trace of it left behind. I see ten thousand smiles, and I also see ten thousand tears shed before hand. I’ve seen you sparkling so many times that I’ve lost count, but I’ve seen you humble and out of the spotlight way more many times.
And then you see me, all thorns and shadows looking for an ending to a story I never began. You’ve heard a lot about me, but a little from me. And in that moment I notice how all the excuses to all the conversations we slid past have made a story of their own. We’ve read one hundred stories of each other but this was the one hundred and first. Because when you balanced a tray and stood in the awkward distance between me and the rest of the world, you told me in all the words you didn’t speak that it was alright to be exactly me.



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