noun*
the first part of something,
of everything
the feeling of oddly new, strange

like new years
for a brief moment, maybe
if you'd asked me? oh boy,
it never felt like one

it was just days and months replacing what we once marked on calendars and places
and saying, "this day from last year, " or the other,
explaining every detail how we witnessed every sunset at the same spot at the park
drinking the same coffee from the same cafe
meeting in places where we started
from talking for the first time to crossing out the words from our ultimate getaway list

new years isn't just a beginning
"don't make the same stupid mistake again," someone would've said
such as me,
to the millennials
to my clan
to you
to myself also
to the entire population
reminding us to keep on living once in a long time
"you could do better," perhaps

noun*

one hundred
the number after 99 and
before the thousandth

one hundred unsent letters
written and burnt and a couple of more still kept abandon

one hundred unsaid confessions
of how I terribly miss you
that exchanging of sweet nothings wasn't enough

one hundred at failed attempts of reaching out
that I think we weren't working things out on what should be
but still kept the fire at bay until the breath of earth had fused the rest of the littlest dust

one hundred of miles apart

one hundred of flowers laid next to you
even hundreds of aching hearts were entomb - they never became the same
and a couple of more hundreds ever since your departure

—you were one then became a hundred of versions
but I will never forgot the first I have grasp from

I wished I have known you better
and the rest