We exchanged fully packed backpacks
Mine was full of songs
They are not useful to save your life
Yours was full of tools
But know that you are not a tool

You gave me colors, outlines, strokes and hatches
The ones you diligently used to define your seconds
The ones you etched your mind into existence with
On to these mildly coarse surfaces
of me

The first thing I tried to draw was not the sparkling water
The kind that can relieve a sincere thirst
But a single tear falling from a woman’s eye
I hate premonitions,
The ones that got smeared heavily,
they began to look like hopes

Do you know how it felt?
Calling you in panic at 3 AM
To find my songs playing in the background
In between your syllabus of “Hows”, “Whys” and “It’s okays”
East Sussex, British Rock, whose vocalist melted in drugs
He gave me a groceries list of our exchange
I had ticked them all, up to its very last item
Up to its starting line



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