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Hae Sun Dec 2018
I still whisper prayers for you even on nights when I immediately fall asleep
as my back touches the bed, my head resting on my pillow
But I guess you are the one who’s tired from running inside my head all day
Some days you just walk, back and forth, pacing, hopping, leaping
Until I find you inside my pockets and then inside my chest where I hear all the beating
Some days I wish you would stop because it would mean that I have also stopped
From thinking about you so much but I guess it won’t just yet — you won’t just yet
I still repeat our fleeting moments when I can’t fall asleep
The smell of lavander can fill my room with all its might but once the thought of you pops
This world I belong to has a habit of pausing only to remind me that you have gotten away
On some days, in an old buick by yourself while on other days, in a carriage with the thing that is supposedly beating in my chest
Then I find myself chasing after you only to once again find myself running in circles
In an empty stadium’s tracks — but you’re there. I see you on the bleachers
but I cannot comprehend if you’re waiting for my victory or for my defeat
On some days, that is the problem. There is this uncertainty that envelops the sparkle in you
And oh, if I could only find out what keeps you from being unsure,
I would do everything in my courage to fight it so that you can stop running
And maybe I can start holding your hands when the lights turn green as we begin walking
  Dec 2018 Hae Sun
Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.


translated by W.S. Merwin
  Dec 2018 Hae Sun
Pablo Neruda
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
Hae Sun Dec 2018
Today, in this early afternoon, the sun is missing but I think I met someone I could like - actually, maybe I already like the person enough to type these words that were stranded in my pocket for so long. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to talk to him? To take him out for dinner? Ask him if we could ride the train together? Maybe I'm not supposed to do anything, maybe there's nothing to be done with it. It's just funny how I used to think that in real life - this ordinary and mundane life - we don't meet someone just as it plays in the movies. We don't meet someone we would ever so suddenly click with, we don't meet someone who would ask us all the right questions no one bothered to ask. We can't meet someone like that, I thought. But then, just as the universe knows every single push and pull of our being, it happens. We meet someone who would ask and listen. We meet someone who feels easy to be with, someone with courage and grace - but then it ends there. We meet someone and sometimes that's it.

The universe designed us for the longing and the missing and the hollowness that comes with it. It makes us live with the thoughts and the questions of what ifs and what should've beens but lets be glad it does. For at least in a moment, in that fraction of time, you know they felt it too.  With such fleeting silence, the world slows down, and the sun decides to show up only to adore what it would soon lose in that early afternoon.
not really a poem I guess
Hae Sun Aug 2018
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does.
I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there.
My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog.
I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at.
I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it.
I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted.
We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset.
I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did.
And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me.
I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you.
I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say.
I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all.
I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time.
I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem.
I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance.
But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
my idea of an “us”
Hae Sun Aug 2018
I wondered what words I could use to solicit a response from you –
then, that’s when it hits me.
You do not respond to words,
you respond to the colors of the sea, of the sky, of the sand.
You respond to black and white photos and smiles that don’t exactly look happy. You respond to songs that makes sense of a moment – of a time that meant something more than the ticking of a clock. You respond to the reverie during the ungodly hours of the night, the messages that try to hide themselves in the shadows. You respond to the questions that do not ask what you do but how you do things and you respond to the why’s without being asked because you think it’s important to say it – the why.
And because I did not know these things well when I needed too,
I kept on waiting for this most solicited response only to be answered by unsolicited silences.
always you
Hae Sun Jul 2018
then you realize
the monsters under your bed
can’t get through your blankets
but can go inside your head
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