Ever felt like a familiarity
that speaks to you through forgetfulness,
of a touch that you feel
without even phasing into something physical,
of a fragrance that calls you out
from a room you didn’t know existed,
of a place that’s lost and yet found
in the crevices that you fought
just to pull out one single string
that would soon crumble your world
and collapse everything you thought made sense
and **make this whole world **
a lot more unfamiliar?
The smell of suger did that to me,
brought me close to the sunshine that I lost
in the cracked up room of my old apartment,
of a place that’s non-existent
and yet it tells me about myself,
of a person I was,
of someone I yearn to be.
But I never reach,
like a mirage I see and yet could never hold.
I run behind the shadows of the dusted shelves,
wandering, gliding in,
hoping for that same odourly smell
that called out every night.
It was there when sleep crept over,
seeming like a memory never lost,
but when dawn settled in
‘I’ was again fogotten
in the mist of reality.
·poetry