That feeling,
that knowing,
that tingling,
almost a thought;

once or twice, maybe, yeah,
you get it once or twice -

you know the one:

I've just met you,
I've known you
my entire life...

From the second I first opened my eyes,
to wandering aimlessly across my allotted time,
through names and school hallways,
through motivations, ambitions and angles
that could never be mine,
through the elephant grass of my ancestors' land,
through the fallen trees eaten by the red mites of my memories of summer,
through asphalt oceans I wanted in all seasons only for myself,
through trying to tell the stories, all different stories, my stories that are not mine but I stole from open and sewn mouths, dead and alive eyes, and me to dumb to be anything but fearless as I attempted languages made of those tongues;

and all these endlessly unquiet nights of history that never once bowed
to your loneliness or mine.

This feeling,
this knowing,
this sensation
almost a clear thought:

I've just met you,
yet I've somehow
known you
my entire life.

And to think we were simply tired from the week all day?

No one explain this moment that is writing this ever,
please, for I have my own answers, and you yours,
so let them be that way,
beautifully unexplainable
up here
on this forgotten rooftop
staring out over the world.