Do you think this will be enough?

I can give you the crumpled pages of Borges’s poetry,
Adorned with coffee rings from mornings I spent
Searching for meaning in his mazes,
The edges torn from the pages I never dog-eared,
As though I feared folding the space around me.

I can give you the torn ticket from a metro,
I took in New Delhi,
Its corners tired from the long journey,
The one where I sat by the window,
And made small talk with a girl
About the "Heat Dome Effect" and Golgappas.

I can give you the hours I spent lost in White Nights,
Walking under the rain, listening to Dostoevsky,
My mind echoing with stories and analysis
I’ve never told anyone
.
I can give you the cracked vinyl of a song
You’ve never heard,
Its melody warped by time,
But with a rhythm that pulls at your chest
As if it’s always been yours.

I can give you the map I never unfolded,
The one that shows a place I might visit
But never get to—
Somewhere between Lisbon and Porto,
Where time moves just a little differently.

I can give you the rose I never picked,
Left to grow wild
On the side of a forgotten road,
Back in my homeland,
Its petals soft but fading,
Like the promise of something I once loved.

I can give you the Polaroid of a night in the Bolivian salt pans,
Where the water held the sky like a broken promise,
The reflection of the moon, a thousand versions of itself.

I can give you the grainy copy of a Godard film
That always made me feel like I was
Both too young and too old to understand,
But it was always you I wanted to watch it with.

I can give you the hours spent in the silent chaos of—
Airports, railway stations, and buses
Waiting to take me somewhere I’ve never been,
But hoping you’d be beside me wherever I arrive.

I can give you the pages of a journal I kept
During the year I tried to forget who I was,
Each word a reflection of a road not yet taken,
But I still have the map.

I can give you my fleeting moments of solitude,
The ones where I sat atop, near the edge of a tower
Watching people and traffic move in slow motion,
Wondering if anyone else ever felt this small
And this alive at once.

I can give you enchanted hugs that hold you like water,
Where your mind feels weightless,
Even as you struggle to breathe,
Lulling you into a dreamlike hush,
A suffocating calm of depths cradling your soul.

I can give you tissue papers stained with poetry,
Trivia knowledge that you'll never use anywhere,
Sorrows and desperation of a devotee before an altar,
The hopeful words uttered by a cynic,
I can give you recitations of love that sound foreign on my tongue,
But I will believe it for you,
Because it is you.

I can give you the pieces of me I thought I’d never share,
Because I believe they’re safe with you,
And maybe,
Just maybe,
They’ll be the parts that bring us closer.