I stand right in front of your innocence,
dreaming about nothing would be as important as the present.
Forget about our homework, forget about the working hours,
let’s hang out hang out sinking our feet under the white sand.
I wanna go back to the place with your aquamarine gaze and coconut flavor jokes,
anyway nobody cares about if tomorrow is the end of the world.
Now I only have those pink band-aid wrapping up the envelopes,
words should be said, and chocolate shaped like melting hearts.
Right in front of your seriousness,
no way for me to escape the ancient days.
I was forced to look back for so many times, too many times that
the screaming tearing ghost changed its color now like a smearing track in Monet.
Let’s look up look up at the night sky,
sharing the tremendous moon’s smiley face.
It is just a rumor that I was Mars, without your war or rain,
now I’m just a peace lover standing in the desert all alone.
This is how you know I’m dying little by little
no longer feel bored no longer miss home,
only that tiny bit shaded by this waved heat
comes around the memory with you and with such need.
I would choose to wisely invest my time if I could go back
not even one day with you or every single day.
Make it big make it wit
just not this wait in non-Newtonian fluid.
I should have not let it happen so that I don’t need to speak up
to you with those ages with flesh and bones
in this form without a good rest without next and a concrete feed.
Looking at the sky changes its color, I cannot help thinking about how you have changed me.
I like the wildness of their ocean, but I love the under controlled beauty of your lake.
It strikes me like the lightning we saw in the wildness when
remembering that I ate up the chocolate we split up.
I had green milk tea avocado and beach seat,
without the coldness I was so afraid of
without you whom I am so affectionate.
It surprised me when you whispering me those placebos when
hearing my mumbling that I hate your absence and easiness.
You had dying leaves coat and winter depression,
without the sunburning scar on the ancient car
without my evil tricks you used to complain.
Cannot believe the sun goes down so early now, and
the dusk seems dull and cloudy because
my magic and luck, my fortune and fate all wouldn’t work.
Cannot believe the films so artistic do not grab me any more, and
the classic car show in town becomes my contact lens since
my focus and zoom, my perception and view have all been shifted.
I guess it is just the timing makes it more than love;
all songs that sing for me sing for you don’t
require efforts to speak it out;
I guess I can sit here for the whole night in front of my screen
thinking about that constructed starry night walking lasts endlessly till
we would get so tired to fall asleep on the street.
I love the album I made in summer without sentimentality nor reminiscence.
Too many small things slipping under my language,
I already learnt to hide my smug words to avoid hurting your innocence,
only putting my double negative unserious arrogance on stage
to keep us laughing, and
to preserve our fun conversations.
There are way more than that,
what you think or what I think.
It happens in a way that I could never imagine and how it happens
brought me back to my past 25 years without a sign of maudlin nostalgia.
I start to stay up later and later
being afraid of missing the last time and space to feel this-
the simple mesmerization enthralling me in this way too real world.
Among all of you, I love your linguist most because
there would be no homonym, synonym
where whopper would be pronounced as “wooper”;
there would be doubled bubble tea, Sprinkles, and
twenty-four seven stop and repeat for the grand creation.
I could hold that “dozen of golf balls” all our way back until
you substitute them with liquor chocolate conversation.
Or the name tags, train tickets, barcode of our advanture keep going until
sunset night falls we get off at the wrong station and
have to walk a hundred miles back to the right parking lot.
The haunted corridor and ballet dancing classrooms, along with
faked zombie unsolved riddles crawling back to
montages all over the place without scarf or gloves, without classical or indie, but
with too much control of behavior and too less of words.
So warm, so balanced, so right.