Bug

"Pssst! I think I have caught a bug,

Meet me my dearest and I will tell you.

Maybe you know what the bug is,

I can't seem to put my finger on it.

There's a kind of itching

But a ticklishness where the bug's bit.

I don't know if I want the bug on me.

Maybe you can decide for me."

Meet me soon,

I've called you time and again.

You never pick up the phone

So I ended up with the idea of a letter.

I had already sent you a letter

With all kinds of news about my life.

I am sending one more letter today

And I have written about the bug in it.

I wrote you  a poem once,

Combined words that rhymed,

Inspired from a postcard I had once seen as a child.

It was childish,wasn't it?

But the happier dreams are made of such moments,

I have no regrets.

Maybe you'd laughed,

I don't know till date,

You'd just smiled and thanked me.

I should have asked your girlfriends about it.

"Fireworks and starlight

The postcard read it was the occasion of Twelfth Night

In Iceland where winter, our favourite season

Hangs out all year round with all its might."

What a goofball.

Terribly "underrated" (terrible) talent shimmers beneath.

I wish we could rewind to the point in time where we had met,

Beneath the starlight in the park, with fireworks welcoming the New Year in the sky,

We'd been walking alone, we'd lost our friends in the crowd.

I still have that number you'd given me that day.

Numbers changed,addresses flipped, friends resurfaced and got lost in that crowd again,

Maybe the letter will work.

Maybe I could dial that number you'd given me in the park,

Would it be possible to rewind then?

Let me try 02508975648387.