And so we started speaking about
One hundred years of solitude.

You stood with hands deep down in pockets
While I stuck out my tongue, glued to rain.

You marveled porticos in neon light; when I wanted
To see what was on the other side of the mountain.

You said mountains are stark, you preferred me briny,
Sun deep scorched hair all a tumult aquamarine.

You painted my world burnt sienna.
You said that's the colour of soil.

You said I gave back
Life to your life again.

Do you really stand hands deep in pockets?
When the sky breaks down in rain?

Quipu knots it formed all along, love
Still stayed a pnemonic pain.

One day we would surely meet in person
Let our minds meet till then.

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