Have you ever caught a glimpse of someone
And wished that you knew them?
Do you imagine their lives,
Write yourself into the perfect meeting,
Frame that perfect shot?
Maybe that’s why movies fascinate us.
Because that’s all a script is.
That faux genuine moment that speaks to all of us.
The way we wished things were,
What we could’ve done,
If only we had the courage.
Sometimes, I wish I could go back
To that perfect, decadent heartbreak,
Before I understood why
I love you wasn’t enough.
When we were 16,
My best friend and I used to sign off MSN with a heart symbol.
It meant I love you, I miss you,
It was years later that I understood why
The symbol for love is less than 3.
You have to love yourself (singular)
In order to love or be loved (plural).
I write vignettes in my head of perfect moments:
The quiet calm amidst the rush of life.
When a smile, a snarky conversation,
Catching the eyes of a stranger over the rim of your coffee
Encompasses the world.
I wonder if these vignettes are a reality in an alternate universe.
Sometimes, my head is so heavy with these faux memories
That I worry I won’t be able to differentiate
When I’m older.
Most people don’t know that the perfect lie
Is one you tell yourself so much
You begin to believe in it.
I wonder if that’s why we’re empty masses of expectations.
Maybe that’s why we have an affinity towards
The possibilities of us, the memories of us,
More than the reality.
Imagination can be comforting, even comfortable.
Like water before it Niagara’s.
Sometimes, I wish someone would catch a glimpse of me
And write my story.