One day we met at a crowded street.
Your hands were on your pockets and your clothes were a bit damp.
An earbud dangling on your left ear and your eyes a hazelnut brown.
You got that vague smell of chocolate and your lips swollen red in the cold December air.
People walked past us,
hurriedly and unknowingly,
but time seemed to froze right at that moment.
Everything that's around us was a blurry picture of dismantled motion and I continued to stare upon your eyes in awe.
You looked at me quizzically and I just smiled in response.
I am a faded portrait of an identity you once knew and talked to.
I held my grip tight to my journal of poetries about you,
that I know I should give to you but I can't.
I'm there,
standing in front of my missing piece hoping that he'd remember me,
but you just shook your head and walked past me like I'm never a part of your memory.