i read a poem that he wrote a few days back
and i realized how no one understood his words
i wanted to tell him that i still remembered his scars
i wanted to tell him that i knew whom he wrote it for

with every rhyme that he had knitted,
with every full stop that he had added
i knew exactly what he wanted to share
i knew exactly what he wanted hid in layers.

his poem was nothing but a cluster of words
that felt like a secret message to me.
his poem was nothing but a confession at 2 am
that felt like a desperate and helpless plea.

he tells me to **** my fears
i try, i try my best to **** them
i lean over them in the darkness of the night
thinking to stab them
with the sharpest of the knives
i hold it tightly in my hand
i expect them to put up a fight
but they don't, they do nothing at all
and i realize that i cannot **** them
i cannot **** something that has been
a part of me since the beginning
so i pull up the trunk from under the bed
and lock them away and tell them to be quite.

he tells me again to **** all my fears
i tell him they are dead, yes i lie
he buys it easily and i secretly smile

i hate my fears yet they feel like the only thing
that is truly mine.

if you ever see me again, in some market or a street
don't try to come near, i might have already moved on
i might be having a good day, i might be more happy.

if you ever see me again, in some mall or a shop
don't try to talk to me, i might not respond to your hello
i might not acknowledge your presence, i might not even look at you

if you ever see me again, in some restaurant or a cafe
don't try to look at me twice, i might be with someone else
i might be in love more than before, i might not even remember you well.

if you ever see me again
just smile and move on
like you always did.