Were we there?




The floating dust burned into the wall above the heater in February, the dancing water mist over the thin ice in March, the dew on the magnolia in April, the last burning birthday candle on the cake in May, the growl in the moist air in June, the lonely nightmare in an empty room in July. It seems that 365 days of a year have become a thing from the last century. All the alphabets scattered and dissipated on the surface the paper, and the last trace of scratches was folded in time after struggling for a couple of times in vain. The lotus root is broken, so are the clinging fibers. Nothing is connected anymore. Time, time chopped off all hope of going back, confining you to the thickest cocoon. If you do not grow out of a transformation, then die inside. Occasionally, in a dream, your voice, and his face, we invariably hummed the melody that we used to know.

Holding the broken clinging fibers that have been lost for more than 20 years, I gradually realized that they are eternal. While we, and the connections between us, are just a blink of an eye. We are still there, that time and space. Yet, we are no longer there.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.