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finn Nov 2023
It’s evident that the person I thought you were exists entirely in my memory, on that comfortable blue couch in your old temporary apartment - 160 Morton, I still remember the address from when you bought 50 dollars worth of subway for delivery on your dads card because the 6 frozen pizzas you had bought on the monday weren’t enough to last you a week.

The person I thought you were exists only on the second floor of the empty arts building, dancing and singing, on the picnic bench where I told you that you didn’t realize the effect you had on people, in that small campus and our trips to the nearby cities where we confided in each other and you sought my advice, i sought your comfort and the warmth of your hand gripping my shoulder when it was evident my own hands quivered and trembled.

It’s evident that the person I thought you were exists merely in my memory - but that isn’t entirely fair to you, I guess. You’ve always been better lying on the couch, head in my lap, than answering your messages, weeks old and still unread.

But still - does it hurt that much to even pretend you still care about me?

(7 separate messages. It’s been a week. Only when I confront you do you apologize, tell me that you’ve been having a bad time.)

(Explanation. Excuse. Explanation, not excuse. I thought we agreed on this.)

My memory erases the blemishes on our record, the bad moments - a relapse, anger, your hands on her thighs, lounging on the beach yet still asking me to watch your shoes.

Why can’t I be the ******* for once? It’s that emotion again, tenfold but dulled. I’m not angry, just disappointed. Maybe both. I don’t know. I never know when it comes to you.
the person i thought you were
Ara Feb 2017
I am but a rose of beginning green,*
imprisoned to darkness all day,
within a monumental fiend,
who covers up the radiance that I want to give away

Occasionally a small opening would be sewn
into the darkness' fiery grasp
and your pure radiance could be shown
concealed in a kindhearted mask

Share your light with me
and for you I will light the way
wrapped in an unfamiliar livery
prepared for our intimacy till the end of our days

We will cross waters on a homebound stretch
and become fuel for our endurance,
so beautifully etched

I'll take my chances, following the sun
the garden we grow
means that together, we are one

Share your light with me,
and forever I will stay.
my petals can become your livery
we need each other, I daresay.
This poem was written for a class, and I will be turning it in soon. Tips/Comments/Suggestions are greatly appreciated!
Fay Castro Dec 2016
It's a hot day.
in mid-december.
What the **** is this.

I expected cold
That's what I came to Taiwan for.
i guess the world had other plans.
******* hell.

What am i doing?

I'm watching the old ladies run about
with the old men
Strings of coral and jade
around their frail wrists
And pocketfuls of money
i will probably never see

There's another old lady
carrying boxes of food
selling lunch to the loud jewellery sellers.
she's seen better days,
But she looks happy.
at least i hope she is.

The chestnut girl isn't here today.
i hope she is, though.
she's cheery all the time.
i need a bit of cheer in my life.

My parents have left me alone.
how the hell do i run this booth
i hope nobody comes to ask me for anything
even if i should hope they do.
we haven't made anything in weeks.

The jade market is loud
and the smell of sandalwood incense and rotting nails lingers
like when i accidentally cook too much pork
with an inadequate amount of onions and salt
and the smell assaults my apartment.

I wish you were here.
you would love the chaos.
I miss you. And the jade market is pretty okay.
Fay Castro Nov 2016
Four hours
Before I have to leave.
I remember your lips,
Planting kiss after parting kiss
On mine.

Two hours
Before I have to leave.
I remember your hands
Holding mine, but slowly letting go
As I pass through the boarding gate.

Thirty minutes
Before I have to leave.
I remember every single moment,
Every laugh, every "I love you",
Turning into a fading, yet fresh
Wisp of memory.

Thirty seconds
Before I have to leave.
I remember you  

Don't worry, my love.
I'll let you know when I'm on the other side.
I love you.
I wrote this in the airport at the start of my vacation.  It's somehow fitting I post this at the end of it.
Fay Castro Oct 2016
I went to a flea market today
And between the stalls peddling jade
Antique swords
And old Japanese plastic toys,
I found a box of photographs
Forgotten by time

I picked up the photographs one by one
And in each of them I saw countless stories.
1940's Taiwan.
1920's Japan.
A couple.
A group of men.
A rice field.

I watched the smiling faces and the wide, vacant grins and wondered,
'Who are they?
'Where did they go?
'Who did they go home to?
'Where are they now?'

I looked at the photographs and saw us.
Happy. Content.
Unfettered by the passage of time.
Unaware that one day, we'll be nothing, or everything.
Uncaring about how short and how eternally slow life can be.

I look at us and wonder,
'Will anyone remember us, fifty years from now?
'Will anyone care what happened to us?
'Will we simply be, sixty years from now, old photographs in box in a ***** flea market?'
I found no answers to my questions.
I doubt I ever will.



I went to a flea market today.
But that's all in the past now.




I put the photographs back in the box.
I'm feeling very sentimental.
Fay Castro Sep 2016
Lorenzo

The name spills from my lips,
Like wine-
And stains my hands.

LoRENzo

A brand on my chest.
A tattoo on my neck-
Where his tongue traced constellations.

Lo-ren-zo

The name lingers in my blood
Like a narcotic
And in the air
Like ***.

I'm hooked.

Addicted.

Lorenzo.

Lorenzo.

Lorenzo.
First, and hopefully not the last.

— The End —