I opened the door, with Sean’s warm smile and “Hi, it has been three months!”
The last time I was here, Tilly got pregnant and now she is the mom of five puppies. There are just too many happened this year: something good, something bad, something very good, something very bad. All strike me like it is the very end of a life, not the beginning, not the middle.
They had came, they have all gone. Dead in a way, or another.
The blood bathing sunset and cloud sea, the most tender and happiness I’ve ever had, and the invisible connection in between, all lead me to the ones.
All reminds me of you, and that must be another evidence of gravitational wave.
It had not stopped,
and I know it never will.
The bleeding suspended steel with a bad clearance excuse,
with your worn out cotton cloth pants dragging down to that repetitive street.
For I breath hard, I breath harder,
but not you in the air nor the florist smell of rose garden.
Tea house doesn’t hold ceremonies for empty souls,
with deceitful present blinds us both.
I don’t see them as before,
and I don’t see myself as before any more.
The spinning winded world with those sweet smiling wounds,
with my creamy shortcut wet hoodie folding in the roaring rapids.
For you stand far, you stand farther,
but not me in the sight nor my deepest reminiscence.
When the pink straw intrudes through the plastic seal and my hands invade your lens,
with silent diamonds cut through my face.