there are people who still know me
as someone i don’t recognise anymore.
they remember the old haircut,
the stupid joke i always made,
the person i was trying so hard to impress.
they say my name like nothing has changed.
and for a second, i am seventeen again,
standing exactly where they remember me.
it’s strange how growing up
doesn’t happen equally
inside everyone else’s memory.
somewhere in their heads,
i am still becoming who i am now.
maybe that’s why
old friends feel a little unfamiliar.
they aren’t meeting a stranger.
they’re meeting someone
i haven’t been for years.
~shreeraj