We’ll meet again,
Maybe when our lives are a bit less hectic,
Maybe when we’ll be owning our dream professional identities,
Maybe on a Sunday morning while you’re out for a jog.
Overlooked at first, you’ll notice me sitting on a bench,
Reading a book, yeah by then,
It’d be a habit maybe.
I’ll read you the poetry I’ve written thinking of you, all these years.
You’d tell me about that bruise you got as a stubborn child.
And I’d tell you about the tears I gifted my mother,
The first time I disappointed her.
Maybe this time,
All our fears would be trivial.
This time we’d have your favourite McD burger,
Watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S and we’d dance to my weird playlist in the living room.
The dates wouldn’t need to be wine sips at lavish restaurants,
But I’d often ask you to take me on long drives,
As that’ll be the closest we can get for moving forward together.
This time we’ll definitely sit by that lake late night,
Listening to your soothing playlist.
This time I’d get your name inked on my wrist as I’d thought of,
You’ll plant kisses on my forehead and watch them grow into beautiful smiles,
You’d hold me tight whenever I’ll crumble in my sadness.
This time there’ll be a second meet,
This time it’ll all be worth something,
And this time you’d complete the poetry you put in me.
© Shivani Singh Rathore