I wonder sometimes if I’m the reason,
the inspiration, the push,
through your struggles, written thoughts
and half rhymes.
I wonder sometimes if I matter,
or if anything in the air
reminds you of me,
or if the days we walked around those boring malls,Â
with wide open smiles and glassy eyes,
struck you in nostalgia,
like it does to me.
I wonder sometimes if we were right,
the broken hearts that fit each other,
misadventures, timings and worlds that turn,
the hands of clocks that stayed right at that same spot,
but doesn’t seem to tell the right hour.
I wonder sometimes if the poetry I write,
will be as good as yours,
though the pain I’ve went through, incomparable
with your scars
that punctured your soul.
But it hurts enough
to know that the words you write,
will never relate
to my faults
around my little bullet holes
between my frowns
or beneath my skin.