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Haze

I happened to spot you in your cleaned-dashing school uniform holding the doorknob
when I swept the classroom’s door. The butterflies came out mumbling and I wish I showed
you how a blanket of their wings could give colour to the space between us.

You walked with your bag half-carried in your shoulder over the cobblestone right by
the concourse of burnished stones painted with heavens and I wish I have the little spot where
I could walk with you so we could hear the angels hum.

You led down the aisles of shelves just across my shimmering whole eyes, picking a nice
suitable book over a battered journal. I wish I had let you know that I was the poet behind one of the tome with thousands of poems and stories written for you that you’ll never read.

You told stupid stories and shared bland jokes and I wondered if I never have pretended
to laugh at your stories, I was probably in the clear; we didn’t share the same laugh because
yours sounded just politeness.

You stood up to the edge of the podium where one handed the microphone and your
breath drew the heavy air of an unfamiliar atmosphere and I wish I could cheer you up with my
biggest screams and tight applause and see me as your substantial fan.

You got tipsy over rereading the countless pages of your thesis and felt like a grown-up
cruising past the clumpy local streets in the middle of the night, craving for a mini stop of the journey.The moon and stars were crisscrossing our hazy sky and I would have told you, you
did better.

Just like that, I could only see you from afar and make a world in a reality where there
would be just the two of us and, even you’re always around, it turns out there was never an us
because you’re a haze- just one of my pipe dreams.