we were born in the late nineties

i was driving today and the roads felt somewhat unfamiliar, as if they didn’t recognize me either: a wrong sidewalk, a misplaced lamppost. or i wonder if my memory were mistaken. i think of how it does this every now and then to each of us, when we mistake seeing a face in a city, and it is the right face and the wrong city or the wrong face and the right city. i am always going around finding for someplace familiar. in the car you let go of my hand and tell me i will see you again tomorrow but i won’t see this sunset ever again, and it is an impossible choice: which of you do i spend a few extra minutes with — you or this sunset that will never be here again.

i do not know what to make of all this time in both of our hands, we’re soaking in the last of the afternoon sun draped over the car, shadows long and sharp on the dashboard. i reach for my phone and take photos of the sky but they all come out blurry. they refuse my gaze. turn away, they say. you will find no meaning in this, you will find no one of significance here.



culture & poetry writing type (she/her)

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