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It was yet incomprehensible to
my twelve year old mind.
But I was watching her secretly.

I smiled at her black hair
on the sunny grass, it
smelled like honey and jasmine.

Time was yet unfathomable to
my thirteen year old mind.
But I kept watching her secretly.

She was worth missing my math class
for me to think about her,
a second at a time.

Future was yet unimaginable to
my fourteen year old mind
But I kept watching her secretly.

She sat right next to me in class
by my wooden desk,
full of sketches of her.

She was yet inconceivable to
my fifteen year old mind.
But I kept missing her secretly

It was hard when she was not
around anymore. Her hair
I missed the most, secretly.

I wondered if she ever noticed me by her side,
Loving, no, liking her lightly, clearly, purely.

Distance was then perceivable to
My twenty five year old mind.
I, New York. She, London.

We were working by then.
She, probably, forgot about her shy
elementary school companion.

Memory was then valuable to
My forty year old mind
That always added a tint of nostalgia to my smile.
Occasionally, I would dream of her
on the grass on a spring day and myself,
sitting far away smelling her scent.

Love is now more conceivable to
My sixty year old mind.
But she, I guess, is no longer here.






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