Scrolling down, I saw something.

Surprisingly I felt nothing.
Was it because it was just a photograph?
Or was it because I have drained all that stupidity?
I wish it was because I am now invincible to your trickery.
Still
I wonder how it would feel like
when I get to see you again
and speak to you again
touch you again.
Could I be on my feet?
Be not like the saint you once portrayed.
Be not the musician you once depicted.
Be not the teacher you once hid into.
For I am now the artist that is not fooled by any fake magician.
I am the writer that writes about deceptions–
Yours–
And now I have my charcoal and my paint, my paste and my thread,
my strings and my needles
To put things back together,
Except you and me.

Finals never coming

Above all the noise was my eyes’ call that they saw you. It was more than loud to be heard. Pretending to be deaf was not an option. Then all these puzzles were undone again. I saw the pieces scattered on the ground again. I never thought that time was possible. I hardly thought that wave was possible. For the nth time, I was caught unprepared in this game I thought was finished long before. Well apparently, no one had won. Not even my attempt to ignore the smile that accompanied that deafening request for attention. Or for an inevitable reunion.

It was not easy though it seemed light. Spectators were everywhere in the game, trying to read the game players since they started. Restarted. Against all else that were obscure, there was just one distinct thing I felt that moment. That was…