Love me three times. Exactly as much occurrences in that single day
Should I know you, from before? Further back before being made aware of your existence as a name awaiting for meaning, even before symbols started to come to me as revelations. Should I?
Did you also laugh, the third one, after having caught me twice having-to, needing-a, leaving-towards, as you appeared, then me, just muttering a brand new command for a greeting, around a corner, finishing an action, leaving a place, waiting for something? Then, maybe you, you again, caught up reminiscing those exchanges while the present one unfolds.
I assure you, next on, I'll do my best to unveil whether you know I know, and if so, to which extent, because I do know you have your own score on those silent, ever-looming life lessons, just like I do.
Would you like to grief them, together, their source, perhaps best described as an unrequited soar for a better you in a better place?
I do it writing, doing things that might have not been done, or at least not in a certain fashion and intention. I can't help but wonder how would it go if we ask our hermit-like impressionable selves to come out.
I'm glad you didn't suffer seasonal depression. What brought you back here? Did you also do your best to bring home over there?
I made a much better sense than your therapist of your cat's scratches on your hands. Of the way you craved a cigarette.
I'll need to hear you laugh again like you did, but this time not from an out of pocket statement of mine, but your complicity in shaping our encounter after this briefing of a thrice-something in disguise.
