I saw you.
I mean, I saw the old you.
I mean, I saw your younger face staring back at me from my phone's screen.
That picture you took in your red shirt, the one I slept in once, with your hair so wild and your beard untamed, just like your crazy smile.
I saw you. On Instagram.
You had viewed a part of my story. One that I had posted because I had a dream about that poem you once wrote me, and I thought it was a sign.
Was you seeing this post also a sign?
Maybe I'm going a bit crazy. It's just, you've been in my thoughts a lot more than normal the past week.
It could just be an error anyway. Instagram must have algorithms and all that jazz, so maybe it's programmed it to look like you've been on my page, when really, you haven't thought of me in a year and a half.