Work Text:
They weep. They wail. They scream.
They regret the dreams that never came true,
Grasping at the collars of passerbys for a final chance,
A final chance they will waste again.
Like how a plant’s shrivel marks its final gasp.
I turn and look away.
I turn and look away
From the sand that slipped through my fingers,
From the goodbyes I never got to say,
From the moments of laughter that turned into faded photographs.
Then the photographs were thrown away,
Then the plushie marking my secondary school graduation,
The keychain my mother coaxed me into buying on a trip to Sichuan.
And the rest will be sealed into a box where they sit and collect dust.
Forget them, because to remember is to bear the pain of loss.
Remember them, because to forget is to never live.
Time is a pulsing heart
A heart that beats on, not caring for its brain,
Beating, even when
The brain cells have died and the heart’s death is imminent,
Knowing its death is near, it faces the future with confidence,
Or resignation, knowing that nothing can be changed.
All in this short glance
Before I return to my place at the window.
It is raining, as it always has been.