The alter ego
When I wrangle with self, weighing trivial choices,
And weep into the night, over a quivered dream.
I see a wrapped box, in it a handwritten note,
Tiny little hearts, and a familiar scribble.
Sturdy words, an astronomical list of my talents,
In my dismal moments, aren’t you totally my rock?
When I am in raptures with spark in my eyes,
I see your eyes are lit too, did your dreams see the same sunrise?
Ruining plans, ‘oh, we are so good at this.’
Long riveting phone conversations, ‘five more minutes, please.’
Forever borrowing my thoughts, ‘how did you read my mind?’
New mornings and pristine shafts of light,
Then awkward tête-à-têtes, now congenial silences.
The waveless flux from the marine to the shore,
Overused war cries, and reruns of oldies we glorified.
The story of our camaraderie; a fortuity, a serendipity?
Besides everything else, I also get my sustenance from you,
Not too near together, but for standing together,
For being my alter ego, the always, the forever.
For the quipsters, therapists, partners in crime, the maestros — the best friends. :)