Kaleidoscope

The thing is, we can never fully figure out each other. We can only be but mere pieces of complexities, bits of wonder, and fragments of thoughts.

I say ‘hey’. You say ‘hey’.

And we know exactly when to say so, why on earth, and what the heck.

I type my favorite emoji. You type a very long HAHA.

And we hear clearly laughter bursting from both sides.

You ask about my day. I have nothing nice to say.

And coffee starts to brew so many things to share.

You ask a question. I answer you with a couple more questions.

And we both start to believe we get the answers we need.

I go rhetorical. You probe.

And we stay on our respective sides of life without having to be one-sided in our judgments.

I speak of rarity. You speak of misanthropy.

And we have spoken our own truths even if we may not always agree.

I experience crisis regarding my stand on destiny with our numerous debates on the plan of the universe, the randomness of existence, and life’s best laid plans. You maintain an abstract but lucid picture of your dreams about the future like there is no stopping you from weaving a galaxy out of the stars you hook your dreams on.

And dreams and destinies will always be the conversations I most fondly share with you.

Now before I cross the line of my innermost chords, before I’d be tempted to spill stuff supposed to be off the record, maybe I should just seal this with an expression of joy and gratefulness that you have been born, and the universe has led us to see through the words we have pressed, because for what it’s worth, you are one lucky girl for knowing me—I mean, I cherish having you knowing me, especially in times when I forget who I am supposed to be.

You are priceless piece, beautiful bit, a fancy fragment to my kaleidoscope, where everything is a stunning mess, and nothing has to be all figured out.

Happy 18th birthday, my Maki.