in the swollen summer days, the pressure
of what is coming to an end, the silent chaos
of the surroundings, and
the strange comfort of the new wind
completely took over everything else.
hence the slow details of day-to-day occurrences.

for there seemed to be no transition between day and night,
and light was slowly dipping into darkness,
and darkness was gently unfolding on light.

the intertwined arrays of sunshine on the clouds,
the fading sunset,
the smoke fondling the moon
all happened. all vanished.

when the eyes closed and opened
they anticipated the same thing,
and so they were served.

the aftertaste of a night's vivid creations was sweet
like honey
subtle
like tea
and lasting
like memories that were created to haunt for a lifetime.

what was remembered and
what was forgotten
all blended together.

thus past wounds were healed,
laughs were concealed behind lips,
and time was dissolved into air
to sink them all, to rise them all,
to sew fantasies seamlessly into reality.

and maybe the dream would last,
from the juxtaposition of breath to breath,
into eternity.

Agreement to Romance
No contract/ signatures
For the shared love of love,
they were brought together.

Defined by liberty,
he needs some space from her.
One day she crossed the line -
agreement was over.*

Yet she hides it from him,
and very well indeed.
She keeps the way she is
with charming words of wit.

He needs the privacy
she wants the true love's touch
They love the fantasies,
an adrenaline rush.

Behind the door she lives
is the absence of his.
He never stays the night,
sometimes forgets to kiss.

She sometimes wondered why
his scent vanished like dust.
They succumb to romance,
right between love and lust.

He still does not know how
she keeps him in her heart.
For if he did, oh my,
they would break far apart.

Agreement to Romance
we've all been there and lost.
The taste of full freedom
comes with too high a cost.

we walked toward the beginning of the sea, hand in hand,
you told me this was where you always took her to,
and she always fell in love with the sunset.

I dipped my toes into the cold water. It tingled like salt
on the tip of my tongue. I pressed my feet down and the sea monster
took a firm grip around my ankle. My laughter
filled the air, and your sugary scent from behind me
floated down my throat. Your lips
frantically searched for mine, my arm
pulled down your head, and we
kissed, and we kissed.
I kept
calling your name, and you mine,
and we lost balance and fell down on the
tide. For a moment, I thought
the ocean
could have taken us away
on a free ride.
Wouldn't that be good?

But you were laughing, lifting me up,
walking me back to the sand
with your endless kisses, and your arms
around my waist. We lay down together,
smiled constantly, whispered silly things,
then again we locked lips as the waves sang louder,
chasing seagulls away, so they would not bother us.
Under the light wind and the sun we made love
right by the sea, and under the sky so blue.
You sank deeper into me before
rising back, and I rose higher above you
before sinking in, in perfect harmony,
like those waves luring in the sea.

And I asked us to leave
right before sunset
though I always wanted to see it.

You were smiling as we drove away,
I was looking out the window,
and suddenly tasting salty water
falling down on my lips.

Sometimes I wish
this reality could tweak a little
and turn into another.

Like, one in which we could actually fall in love
with each other.

Or better,
where we could be happy forever after.

That would be so nice and sweet.
If only I didn't have to wish.

I love the contrast of our skins against each other.
Can we just lie like this for a little longer
Just stay there;
it isn't over when it's over.
Stay,
it will come back.
Believe me,
true love never truly leaves.

I tie your love all around my wrist
so you won't go.
I can't let you go.
Freedom is only granted
in the most secure prison:
my suicidal innocence.
Think you know me? Think again.
We both knew one day there'd be pain.

Think you know love? Why, it's sad.
If this weren't love I would have already left.
But you, my love, don't you see?
You've never really loved me.
Enough with our tragic romance
What can we do to let each other go?
I no longer know how to
Do you?

I am thinking of you,
the sincerity of your thoughts,
how you deal with emotions,
you do not know any better than running away,
in circles of isolation,
and when I restrained myself from running to you
and gave you time and space,
you thought I gave up on you.

"Did you really think I would give up on you?
I was the one who thought you gave up on me."

"No, why would you ever think so,
if nothing had happened, if there had been no clue
of me leaving?"

We keep each other hanging,
as this rising discomfort
tightens around our neck.
We keep questioning ourselves
and others that we love
and us.

"Don't give up on me," you said.
How could I?
Do you really think I know how?
We are just two helpless creatures
facing each other
in the midst of our craving for affection.
So much to give, so hesitant to receive.

What are we going to do now?
If we are so alike, is it wise
for us to, maybe,
you know,
fall in love?

In those days, at every corner of the city
you could find a coffee shop.

There was never a high-rise building,
everything stood together in an unorganized manner,
for they never mastered the art of urban landscaping.

Street vendors had their own way of singing
their promotion songs. You remembered the tune, the words,
which reminded you of those streets.

The sounds of vehicles and their horns and the winds
never stopped. But in those days, they used to be
purer. Clearer. More innocent, perhaps. Less troubled.

Life never stops being tough,
but it was quite beautiful,
then.

When I grew up
the city was still left with fragments of history.
I had no memory of what had happened before I was born,
yet you felt in the air the gentle sadness, and the subtle beauty
from those French buildings. The architecture
slowly faded away as icons from the war,
becoming part of our modern life.
We had to move on,
and so did everyone who had left.

Those buildings, instead, became icons of my childhood,
of what I remembered about the city.
From my elementary school,
you could see the Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica to your left,
the Central Post Office right in front of you.
I was always taken home via the street former known as
the Rue Catinat.

I would never forget the way it felt every afternoon.
I'm going home.

Those places have changed, and so have people,
and so have I.
The day they demolished Givral Cafe,
Xuan Thu Bookstore, Passage Eden,
the whole street block of memories,
was the day many of us lost something so deep in our heart.
History was gone once again.
And soon enough,
we would allow ourselves to forget once again.

I keep reminding myself,
Hey, it's ok to change.
My city does not repond to me.
It just becomes so foreign,
as if it has always belonged to somebody else
but me. And I keep digging
into the dust, the traces, the pictures
to find solace in what I could remember
about my changed lover.

They say, in the end it does not matter,
modern society needs revolutions.
Evolutions. Higher skyscrapers. Highways.
A North-South express railway even (Idea rejected.)
We need to catch up with the rest of the world.

Oh, dear men, I am fine with that. I am an easy fellow
who seldom feels too strongly about anything in particular.
But my heart keeps aching from some changes you guys make.
It outraged the day you took down my corner of memories.
I was in Boston reading the news my friends sent me,
picturing myself sitting at those steps in front of the Opera House
looking at the mass of broken bricks and dust
that was once a nice, little, iconic coffee shop-
Givral.

When my friend talked to me about changes around that block,
she talked in a tone that almost seemed guilty.
She did not know how to break the news to me
without also breaking me apart.
For just a few months before that,
we were walking down **** Khoi Street (the Rue Catinat, if you may),
taking pictures of the Opera House,
Givral Café, the Continental Hotel,
joking of how we acted like tourists.

Try being a tourist in your own city.
It means seeing everything with a fresh set of eyes,
trying to record everything,
trying to grasp the essence of everything
within a short amount of time.
I guarantee you it is fun.
And it will reinvigorate your love,
your understanding, your hope.

I was disappointed with some decisions others made.
Yet, being a city girl,
I was raised to adapt to them.
To learn that there will be thousands of other coffee shops
bookstores
landmarks
so many choices to overwhelm me
to drive me away from the time
when I had so few.

Will it eventually work? I do not know.
But that corner of the street (now demolished),
that corner of memory (now fading),
I was there.
Yes, I was there.

In a drop of a moment,
I am taken back
to the way I used to feel.

It makes no sense at all
to feel that way now.
(But why this heavy sadness
pressing against my chest?)
(And why these tears
falling against my will?)

Can I be me
but not this way of me?
Can I preserve memories
so that they'll never be lost
without remembering where they're stored?

To be myself - does it mean:
I must string together
all my broken pieces
to be complete?
(But can I be whole like this?)

Did I ever get what I wanted
or drown myself in thirst?

What makes me
is essentially what breaks me
without the final fatal strike.

Eventually I always return
from these tiny chaotic bursts -
perhaps once again
having altered my world
for good.

i finally knew
the scope
of my world
yes

it is only as big
as the days and nights
framed
within the window panes

i will not dive into it
nor can i run away
from the everyday changing
of lighting

do not
let me escape
this floating scent of alcohol berries
under my throat

i wish you would
hold me down
and kiss me until my eyes bleed
tears

you at seven in the afternoon
left me in some sort of nonsensical dream
i have learned to make myself
delighted

by sitting here
watching the night slowly
disguising the color of my skin
what is its true color will i ever know

i have given in
to the light
and the lack of it
so i could get along with time

my heart and soul
are given to you
i only need to keep this numbness
underneath my eyelids

you keep
inside the same clothing drawer
where your medicine bottles scatter
the gift she gave you

what remains of the life you had before me
and the love you had before me
or perhaps
you still do

i only have my
silence
the temporary escape
as cheap as a six-pack of mood-cooler

the windows of the house at the street's end
were already lit
i wonder what kind of stories
are going on behind them

do they read like mine
feel like mine
do they make somebody cry
too

there are so many things i do not know
where we are
where we are going
where we are meant to be

it is here
the dark
that will soon reunite me with
my lonely nightmares

dear lord,

please

take me back
to where I do not belong

take me away
from where I do not belong

Tonight death has come to my bed
leaning over to kiss me on my forehead.
“Your wait is over”, I hear the whisper.
Who would not surrender to something so tender?
Yet I wish what remains of life gave me enough time
To kiss you on your forehead before I die.
When you wake up in the morning,
I would have left before the birds sing.
What saddens me is not my departure;
But whether grief will leave your eyes ever.
Will you still see beauty and able to laugh
Or miss me too much you end up going daft?
Love still remains after the end of so many lives;
Nothing truly ends when something dies.
And if you ever forget me, dear, if you do,
I will already have forgiven you.

I did not try to forget you.

At the end of my day,
as I was crashing on my bed,
your voice was resounding in my head,
Don't fall asleep in your work clothes.

The scent of food you made in my kitchen
the aroma of your face, after-shave
the angle your lips formed with a smile
the long fingers tracing down my face
- they were still there,
as if you'd never gone away.

Why are you still thinking about him?
He wasn't worth it
Of course he was, the whole time we spent together.
Lovers know best how long is forever.
Those moments I had with him,
he was worth every one of them.

The streets, the highways, the mountains, the sea
Rain, snow, winds, moon, sunrises, sunsets
We walked, we ran, we drove, we flew through them all.
Until now I cannot get used to the emptiness
of my hands.

The blinds of my window haven't changed,
you said you liked them, for they blocked
glances from those highly unwelcome.
Thus when we made love, they were never up.

They have remained there after you left.
Glances vanished,
and so did the sun.  

And so did my attempt
to forget everything about you.
It does not concern me whether you are here.
To me you are a matter of fact.
To me you are intact.
To me you love me still.

What if we are just characters
in someone else's dream?
What happens when he wakes up?
Will he remember us?
Will I remember you?

I lean to the side of the world          where  my wound is
burst, this is the surface of madness
called reality.
You ask me what my name is
I answer you with yours.

The last of music drips onto my left arm
Leaves me cold.
A cold I do not remember.
Maybe I have not left the realm of death
where my mother comes from.

Unless today has become tomorrow
Unless your promises have come true
I will not see
I will not taste
My memories
Under the wind that swept by my nostrils

Who are you talking to?
Does he suffer from the same realization as I?
Life has left my fingertips
I no longer decipher the truth behind our words

All I do is dance.
Dance through the alphabet of the human beauty
an eternal misery.
Nothing is worth as much to me as the familiar warmth of your kisses on my eyes
bringing all the colors of life to my sight.
Nothing has the magic your hand has upon my skin
All the wounds from knowing and not knowing are healed.

Just love.
Love is what I have concluded by you.
Find it,
find the way we want to go
through the path of my smile sliding down your face.

Open me to the territory you have never entered yourself.
For me you will not cry.
Every moment gives birth to another.
We are children who fall in love – always at the verge of growing up
and contented with just that – lying on the sea to see
how the clouds have been here always
so we know they have never once come back.
Neither will we, but we laugh and cry, and the days and nights
open into a million stars that light up whenever I look at you,
whenever I turn away to feel you on the back of my neck.

Our tranquil jest
No need to explain any sadness - it is our friend.
Just like happiness of a glamourous day
When you take me to the cliff and we both jump
to fall upon the wide blue sky
Never have I seen anything so blue
Never have I seen anything like you
Cold and smiling and so incredibly beautiful

I think
[we are still falling]
I really do
Love you

You left, because you had come.
You arrived where you belonged.

Five years ago, when we first met,
I did not know we would become the best of friends.

I did not know
I would feel like this.

In the evening we said goodbye, an unnameable feeling slowly rose in my heart.
When I got home I could not hold it in anymore - and so it burst.

That feeling which suffocated me could not be described with words.
Only with tears.

I have cried many times in my life.
Every time it has been difficult.

But ever since then, well into the next morning,
I would never again be the person I was that evening.

I imagine there's a kind of love
in which you can't let me live
because you love me too much.

Because you think
death could freeze time.
Because you see
nothing else could stop time
but death.

You want my memories of you
fixated
at the moment where things are still good
before I could watch you
being consumed by your monster.

What comes first:

Love or Poetry?

Dear Time,

Please save every moment he has for me.
For I, have been and will be, having him in my moments.

I collect each tick of time we share like a child does his marbles.
Drop them into the drawer of my memories, and occasionally,
they will glisten under the sun. I think of him, so much,
I wonder if you see his smile behind mine, his eyes
reflected on mine, his fingerprints
under the sheer layer of my skin.

He is everywhere I go, at every place I remember.
The way we sat
with my head on his shoulder, his voice
whispering to my ears, "We should go
back to our place." And before the city disappeared into
the night, we'd already gone.

The days of snow, when he asked,
"Want to see this from a different angle?", and we went
up and up against the winds
blowing against us, and the snow
leaving tiny sparkles on my coat, my face.
The only other human presence
was his. My body was trembling as much as
my heart, then we got to the mountaintop,
and the world we knew was gone.

For beauty of nature and the strong bond
between two souls, at that very moment,
devoured us whole,
and we had no choice
but to fall silent and watch
the sun rise, with his hand
on mine.

same words, same tone
every time I see you I see your message I pick up the phone
I wish you would do it right
even just for one time.

but why, you always have to say something show something prove something do something
annoy me disappoint me make me add harshness to my words turn me into someone I do not want to become

why can't you, just once, before it's too late
say something do something be something
before it's too late, help me so I won't forget
why I once thought you were my world

I have fallen in love with you.

Before the end of my day, I try not to think of you, but you always come back.
There were nights when I did not think about you,
but you were always there, sleeping peacefully, somewhere behind the clouds.
Then I would not know how to react
when you came, full moon.

All I could do
was to devour your beauty
knowing that you’ll soon fade away
back into my darkened heart.

Perhaps, this is my chance
to understand you
to make you smile
to trust someone with my entire life
to not feel the danger of being someone’s mistake
Perhaps I just need to love you.

I cannot just love you.
I want you to love me too.
I want you to to feel the unfathomable happiness that I feel when I think of you
I want you to feel the pride that I feel when you amaze me being who you are
I want you to feel the calmness that I feel when you rescue my faith while others have failed me
I want you to feel the life that I feel when I know I am no longer lonely
I want you to feel love and the beautiful things it brings.

I do not want you to feel the pain inflicted on me when you are not close to me
I do not want you to feel the jealousy when someone else has a chance with you
I do not want you to feel the sadness when I realize I might never reach the moon
I do not want you to feel the fear of losing whom you want the most someday
I do not want you to feel the other side of love
it feels like the sky of those nights without you:
dark, empty, ready to fall.

But my dear, if you cannot feel the same for me,
I do not want you to love me.
I want you to find the one for you, and you both can go through something like this together, for the rest of your life.
And every time I look into the sky, no matter how it gets, I will always remember you.
So beautiful, discreet, full of hope, my only full moon.

I can only be so grateful for the new life I have
after knowing you
after knowing I have fallen in love with you
and never want to get out of it.

underground held a slam poetry contest.
they drew me from the crowd,
"wanna be the judge? hold your score cards,
the poets would soon get here."

I was sitting on one of those chairs,
front row, facing the competitors.
oh how young they were, glasses and what not,
distressed jeans, leather boots,
some had strange bracelets and weird tattoos.
and some looked just like me,
eager for a show of the best of arts.

"this is exciting" "no ****. a friend brought me here,
never been to a slam show."
that guy next to me was even more excited than I,
he frantically slipped through his stack of cards, asking me,
"how picky are you? you like poetry? how do you decide on a ten?"
I said, "a ten is one that makes me **** my pants",
to which he shut up.

slam
the performance of the words, the rhythm, the rhymes,
metaphors and the like were dropped like fire,
I tried to catch them but a few I missed.
didn't need to make sense,
for they were so good.
I just sat there and kept drawing my ten's.
I could hear the guy next to me mumbling,
"now that starts to smell real bad."
I gracefully turned to him and said, "thank you."

have you been to a slam poetry contest?
it is like a festival of *******, except
you could only use your mouth, and some
body gestures perhaps. it became good,
when one poet started to create illusions and reality
with a story about one guy waking up constantly
like me, who kept running into the vicious circle
of daily mundanes and forgettable details.
to listen and watch him was to see poetry at its rawest best
posing itself ****.

underground poets, here I came to give you
my stack of ten's. for you have created
such lively, dedicated
recollections of my world.

Somebody once told me,
in our tender embrace,
"Love is all there is."

I told him to take it day by day,
to live and love in the very moment.
For I would probably leave him the next.

He took my advice
and stayed in love with me
every single moment he existed.

Oh, yes, I liked him,
before he saw me under the light,
before his first glance landed on my forehead,
before he extended his right hand, like a gentleman,
introducing his name, where he came from – things I would love to know,
without asking me what my name was.

Oh, yes, I like him,
but why does that matter at all, while his smile
resembling the sky after each rain, his hands
with long fingers and pretty veins, his lips
curved like a cave that draws you in,
are locked into another person’s.

Oh, yes, I like him.
He thinks he knows me, not because of me,
but with his experience. Wisdom.
Empathy. All done with the touch of a glimpse.
I have thought of forgetting him,
yet my feelings for him are not strong enough.

Dwelling on thoughts about you
is my favorite way of getting lost.

Before we met,
we had been at the same places,
only separately.

I wonder if you ever walked past me,
or I you.
I wonder if we had the same emotion
looking at the sunset burned onto the sky.

Those streets that have seen you and me
must have wondered why we never turned around
and recognize the face
we would see as we have known now.
What took so long for souls like ours
to find one another?
What took so long for my dark brown eyes
to meet those of yours?

To know your hands have touched the same doors,
your feet have walked the same stairs,
your eyes have seen the same places,
your skin has felt the same wind,
is so unbelievably ******.

I simplify things
that are hard
to remember
or
to forget

With time
they all fade; and I,
among a billion things I create,
turn into nothing

In our alternative lives,
I probably would have been yours.

We would have blocked the smoke detector,
shared one cigarette after another,
sipped the same glass of luscious red,
with my fingers dancing across your chest,
and your left arm firm under my head.

You would talk to me about your poets,
musicians, photographers, and the others.
I would tell you a name I prefer
and get a good laugh from your grimace.
For you've never liked anyone I love.

We would have gone together to a show,
watching beauty in silent admiration.
Our souls would make love to their utmost
without us even touching each other.
That would be my kind of lovers.

Reality is harsh for the romantic,
but we know better than breaking the rules
for the sake of being rebellious fools.
In our arts we bury the strongest desires,
the only way we can give them life.

Have me already, my alternative self speaks,
for mutual madness is what we seek.
But this life, as close to the end as it is,
has taken you away from me
far too long before we met.

I might have imagined all the things unsaid,
consciously have your words misread.
But this one thing we both know best
is how to hide our fantasized regrets
deep behind our written lines.

Breathe, breathe very calmly my dear,
and let me
take you slowly
into my world. Do not be afraid
of the unknown, the possibility
of stellar discovery, the risk
of being lost completely.
I am here, I want you
to be with me, I know
your fear.

But look at me, I am
right in front of your eyes,
trust what you
feel, the air
around us, the tension
of your clinging trust, the pulse
defining your blood,
the veins
so eager to burst
under the touch of your fingers.

I remember.
I will remember
as you go further, my happiness
as I slowly lose my mind,
my guilt, my sight,
and my words start to jumble
as you moan louder. You say
something I cannot hear,
but it does not matter, for I can tell
from the way the sweat runs down your forehead
how much you are in love with me.

When I slither down your spine
on the tip of my tongue,
I no longer see you, only your warmth
surrounding my face,
and I want to dig my teeth
deep into you, inject you
with the venom of my lust,
so you know how badly it hurts
to have this much desire
for you.

I try to wait for you,
but my ecstasy erupts
before my will. I am drown
in a frozen stretch of pleasure.
Until I see
you have been looking at me
with tears running down your cheek.
I do not understand that emotion
exuding from your eyes.
And I ask you, "What is it?"
but I cannot hear your answer.

Nonetheless, I have to clean myself,
come back, get dressed,
and tell you "I gotta go."
You nod. Say not a word.
I ask you again, "What's wrong?"
You shake your head.
I get irritated,
so I ask no more. Then I put on my shoes,
fix my shirt collar, and walk out
of your world.

we join each other under our eyelids
your skin give my fingers the most gentle kiss
I feel your breath upon my right cheek
as your legs slowly embrace mine

I could taste the aroma of the night
as you're holding my tongue around your lips,
your palm running down my thigh
your heart thrusting against my chest

your hardness poking under my belly button
my throbbing love waits for you, as it always does,
you come look for it which you diligently worship
taking me to a height I've never risen to before

pain, lust, and everything else that comes with this,
whatever this is, this that drowns me in insanity,
turn our dreams into reality, so we believe
that you have I have always meant to be

I only want to remember this night exactly like this
because I know the nights before and after,
as our souls grow apart, because we must,
my memories will torture me, make me suffer

it is quite alright. I have become good friends
with my tears. They soothe me, tell me as long as
I allow them to come, I will be fine eventually.
tonight, just take me away from my mind

far away from my painful mind


I love you so much

you ****** so hard

it hurts

Even when I am not thinking of you,
I am always thinking about you.
The shadow of the thought involving you
is enough to make me smile,
give me hope, let time slide
down the sides of my eyes
along with the most bitter of my tears
So what remains is no longer fear;
just a calmness I have never felt before
as I slowly set myself on an endless desire
Maybe you really are
my life.

Maybe I need nothing else
but a short moment of truth
masked with expectations
and prior experience.
Maybe you need nothing else
but a single audience
who can never demystify any of your tricks
Maybe all we need is a mutual feeling
or rather, the exact same wish.
What do I know if you never tell?
It is hard, so hard to believe
either of us deserves any of this
We finally see, with our own eyes,
what it is like to be seen
how it feels like to be held
where it hurts the most to be loved.

I doubt I truly feel any of this.

Maybe I'm just too full of ****
to actually know
how to return your love.
But I do not mind, and nor do I care,
when I am with you life seems utterly fair
and makes perfect sense
I would never have to ask
if you are feeling the same way I do.

Even if life stopped right here
I would not be so upset
for my only regret
would be just one:
I could never tell you before I die
how much you make me want to stay alive
in this world
this very world

Day 69

Dear You,

"I love you"*

There I wrote it
for the first time.

As I decided
to leave you
for good.

I really, really do
love you.

Since we can never be together,
we will never be separated.

Yours
without being yours
forever,

Me.

Cannot fall in love with the poet.
But I am already in love with the poet.

For only the poet knows how to please me
with the rhythm
of words
the sensation
of rhymes
the aesthetics
of images
the purpose
of diction

on the same page
our words are intertwined
  our rhymes are smooth
   our images are blurry
    our diction is precise  

and we end it all with an exclamation
of one last cry.

His eyes are gentle like his poetry
sometimes they are difficult to look.
I am not always the woman he thinks I could be,
wrapped in the sheer sheet of romance,
relishing every love letter - an endless rainfall,
grasping for breath at everything splendid,
and at the end of our poem, always
yearning for more.

I am already in love with the poet, but I
have to go. And for one last time,
in our world of perfection,
together we write.

one day, he woke up,
and the day felt like a thousand others.
he reached for the phone and texted her.
she did not respond.
maybe work was busy, he thought.
the day went by. he put
lots of creamer and sugar
in his coffee. the coffee spilled
over the counter, dripped
onto the floor. he sighed and
wiped it carelessly, so it smeared
into brown patches and lines.
he got a book and started to read.
then he put it down and grabbed the phone again.
still no reply from her. he sent another text, asking
where she was. maybe she was very busy, he thought.
the afternoon arrived. he took a nap.
got into a bad dream. something happened,
he forgot. he almost always forgot why
he had cried hopelessly in such dreams.
she still did not write him back.
he wondered if he should call her.
but maybe not.
she got annoyed when work was busy and he called her and she could not talk right away, for she would not stop wondering what it was that he wanted to talk about. and it would probably lead to a small argument, which would lead to bigger arguments, which would end up with her being in tears and him feeling guilty, which would end up with them trying to make it up with ***, which would end up with him not being able to come, which would end up with her feeling upset because he could not come, and him feeling incompetent because she could not come either, and them being all melancholic and what not, and so on and so forth.
so he decided it was best not to call her.
she did not come home at the usual hour.
he kept glancing at the door, peaking his ears to noises from the street
the way a dog waited for its owner to be home at a certain time.
with every passing minute he grew more and more worried.
he texted her again. then immediately after called her.
and he called and he called and he called.
it kept going into voice mail.
he hated voice mail. he left her a few messages.
no responses.
she got home a few hours after,
looking tired as usual. apologized for being late.
said traffic was bad, then she got too hungry she
stopped at a diner and had a quick bite.
she wanted to call him but there was no reception.
her phone was acting up.
something like that.
he did not really smell food from her
not that he had enough time to take a sniff
for she had gone straight to the bathroom
to take a shower. when she got out,
he was sitting at the table, staring into the air
into nothing. her scent was soft, familiar,
and he could feel her smile and gaze upon him.
she sat down and kissed the side of his forehead,
asked him if he had eaten dinner.
he said he was not hungry. she took his hand,
placed her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
they sat still for a few minutes. then he asked
if she wanted anything from the fridge.
i would have some apple cider, she said.
he got them some apple cider. they drank it.
then she said let's go to bed.
he followed her. they got into bed,
turned the head lamp off, kissed each other good night,
and closed their eyes.
he wondered what was on her mind.
she wondered what was on his mind.
and they kept wondering
until they both
fell asleep.

Original Version

I cannot stop
wondering what this is,
what it means,
where it might take us.

You said,
"Love the question, accept the answer.
The only truth is the lesson,
and the lesson is there is no truth.
You have to come to accept ambiguity
rather than expect definiteness."

To own you is to never have you.
To have you is to never own you.
I have to learn how to let go.
Freedom in love is so ******* hard.

I am thirsty for possession,
I want to keep you away from this world,
I want to eat up each of your words,
leaving your novels incomplete,
unknown to the public's hungry eyes.
But I cannot.

For one day the world will expose you,
the chaos of fame will seep into your skin,
the others' eery obsession will surround your head,
and I will fade.
It is with you
that I do not have a name.

From others I can get everything
but the one thing
that only you have.

And so I have come to accept
and to look forward to
a lifetime of ambiguity
with you.




The Translation*

*******.
You ****** with my head, with my heart.
You know that you can just let me go and do whatever the **** I want,
because I will always come back.
I ******* hate what you have done to me, what I have done to myself
I have fallen so ******* deep in this **** with you.
My god I ******* love you, I am so ******* in love with you,
I love you so ******* much it ******* hurts.
But seriously, don't stop.
Be with me, take away my name,
consume me all.

that day, the world was beautiful because of you,
but i, long before the dawn, knew there would be no hope
in staying, and yes, i think you are my world
when i am with you. but that is not the point,
that is not the point at all. the origin of our feelings
had nothing to do with where we were going,
nothing to do with the saddest of days and nights,
and the tears that we shed at the wrong times,
and the loving words we spoke at the few times
when we thought we were in love. there were moments
and there were others. i could not carry you at all times
in my conscience. do you understand? i do not hate you, no,
it is quite the contrary. much so quite the contrary.
i do not need anybody else in the name of fairness
and common sense. but i do want you. times when i
thought everything was coming to an end i
thought of you, wanting to rush to you and say
"i love you" exactly how i used to wish someone,
just one, only one, would say it to me.
but the current of life and this shameful desire to live
always dragged me back, not letting me leave.

i do not mean to make you wait until the lights go off
to bare my soul to you,
to overwhelm you with undivided attention
(not the kind i have always given you in our presence,
but one that gives you the strongest sense of eternity,
the only time when death loses its charm and power.)
i do not mean to bring those tears upon your eyes.
but grief makes a person whom he is
while happiness makes him whom he thinks he wants to be.
are you whom you want to be? are you when i am holding you tight
in my arms, hearing my breath pacing against your heartbeats?

when i am with you
i am not whom i am or whom i want to be
but exactly what i must be if life is real, and death is also real,
and nothing else matters but the truth of you.

you asked me with tears down at your throat how i felt about you
how i truly felt about you, not how i thought you would want to be perceived. so here it is.
i am sorry that there are and always will be
disappointments. but disappointments, more often than not,
are so much needed for us not to lose touch with our truest feelings,
don't you think?

when I woke up this morning,
you would have been half way there on the train
away from this
away from me.

you would have been writing,
thinking, contemplating, arguing.
pages would be filled up,
like your heart, and I
would keep wondering
what you wrote.*

I have nothing to hold on to
but your words, and letters
you sent me. I read them,
had every word memorized,
learned the rhythm and tone,
so I could hear your voice.

I find the deepest pain and the brightest joy
in your creations.
I long to know what you see with your eyes,
how you think with your mind,
how you make love with your body,
how you live in the world with your ego.

I would have left my world for ours,
in a heartbeat. I recognized you
the first time we met. Why can't we
run after our desires, live a life
we truly like, have our dreams
completely realized?

Why can't we become
whom we truly are?
You are what I want,
I am what you want,
why in the world
can't we be together?

I want to fall in love, stay in love, die in love,
to have you here right by me,
to feel you from inside me.
And that smile on your face
and this smile on mine
will forever shine.

you strip and fall
upon uneven surfaces
of irritation.

this is the last of your dreams
before the nightmares begin,
behold.

every splash is accompanied by a silent scream.
you beg and beg to return to reality
but no mercy is ever given.

you have lost hope.
you cannot make it up
to your gods.

your voice is gone,
deep under the sea
melodies of bubbles.

what are these creatures of the night
that keep invading my dreams,
poking my ribs and neck,
throwing me back to our dark times,
of when we dyed our eyes
with memories of death?

you brought me a masterpiece,
then took it away from me.
how did I survive my resentment,
rage, and hopelessness?
how did I survive the loss
of your perfection?

we forgot, we forgot to change
the sadness at that moment -
the night when you saw me
purple and gray and empty
and I saw you blank like a page,
we lost each other in a heartbeat.

and we lost our masterpiece.
it could have outgrown us,
could have flown beyond our flesh,
and would have nothing to do with us.
it could have been on its faraway path
and, perhaps, would even be happy.

What if you lost me to the other side of the Earth?
What if you were always the dark side of my heart?
We move in the same direction but we never meet
We only share mutual passion in our own heartbeats

What if you left everything behind
while I left everything forward?
Our shoulders touch and I turn away
Only to feel your hand guiding me back right under your face

What if you had left me die in my sleep?
You would stay alive, for me you would weep
One day someone else would come your way
You would reach for her hand and ask her to stay

It will be okay you say, it will be okay
For love to exist only in this fate
We wipe our tears to laugh out loud
Our misery is our eternal vow

We dance, fight, drag each other to the ground
The pain all over my body makes me aroused
As long as you are there I have someone to blame
We play the game of putting each other to shame

I am dead only because you are too
Look how much life we need to go through
Light another smoke, let this day burn out
Let me remember love the way I do now

In a city far far away,
another life is waiting for me.

I hear and speak another language,
see other known faces.

As if I had two hearts inside my chest
As if every return were the first time.

At every place I’ve come and left
it seems nothing has changed
it seems the city has forgotten appearances and absences
it seems I have lived a temporary death

What would I do,
if one day,
there were no other city at another place
for me to arrive at?

I only exist in fragments of time,
and so is my love.
You had me whole
in a night of tenderness.
I knew kindness and bliss
enough to turn you into a sweet memory.

"Why can't it happen again?
Why do you have to turn me into a memory
the moment you walk out of that room?"
You said I lived and loved
as a story teller.
Quite a story you were.

I cannot keep killing you,
but you are not able to let me go.
Perhaps I am not either.

Thus I wonder how to write a wonderful story
without having it falling in love with me
or myself falling in love with it.

Imagine a world without women
humanity turned into manity.

At first, life would be simple, peaceful and easy.
But eventually, temptation would be too great.

Eddie would succumb and
bite the apple.

Left to their own devices,
Adam and Eddie would put up with each other, for a while.

But it would be impossible for both to play sports, smoke, and get wasted
all of the time.

With no one to blame for leaving the fridge's door ajar,
battle would not carry far.

A war of fists would ensue,
with brief mumbles to loud yells and huge amount of profanity.

I can’t trust you.
You just go and do things as you wish.

There’s only one thing on your mind.
(And it's the same in mine, too.)

They'd spill too much blood,
no tears, though their sleeves look soaked.

And in an attempt to make things well again,
Eddie would be four inches longer and Adam with ***** the size of an elephant.
(Hooray!)

It would work, for a few weeks,
but soon, they’d drift apart and start to just do it themselves.

In time, their uncomfortable silence,
would become deafening.

Lonely, so lonely, Adam and Eddie both.
How did they become like this?

Suddenly, it would strike them -
if only there were only one of them and all the women in the world.

Manity, I'm sure you'll agree,
could only end up with men being more *****.

You wrap me in the crumbled foil and
  burn me, breathe me in
    slowly, and I rise,my soul
       in each blow of smoke
          into the air, as you keep some of it
             to yourself. I keep wondering
          how long I truly last,
       every time you put me on fire.
Maybe you do not remember.
               You have long forgotten what it means
                                                    to be addicted to me.
        I am something you just do
                out of a habit you have had
        and it no longer means anything to be gotten rid of
              so you keep me here, and whenever you wrap me
                 in aluminum,
              I would slowly vanish into the air,
         fill up your soul, and
                                             deepen your emptiness.

mother.-
"why can you spend so much time
writing all this sappy bullcrap
but cannot study hard
to get good
grades?"

math teacher, senior high school.-
"why do you write such good poetry
but **** so bad
at math?"

acquantainces/maybe friends, anygradeinanyschool.-
"hey
your poetry sounds pretty good
i just
don't understand
what you are trying
to say."

writing instructor, free elective course, college.-
"your poetry is really good
for someone whose first language is
not english."

lover.-
"you are good at writing poetry,
but besides that,
you just seem clueless
almost
dumb
most of the time
you cannot hear
what i say
nor can you understand
much of it.
it seems like
you are lost
in your own world,
have conversation with me
in your head."

i want to blame all these people
for making me think
i must be really good
at poetry
for i hardly am
in anything else
that actually
matters.

sometimes I feel my words falling off me one by one and I cannot catch them and I can only watch them

like that rainfall that
   cannot be stopped
        over the roof of my apartment

and I get lost in
   the growing absence of you
        it consumes me

I keep
   reaching out my hands
       only to see fingers hanging in the air

                     you've never held them

I wish I could dream up the warmth of skin
   but my imagination has its limits
       I feel helpless in my crippled poetry

you are already forgetting me
    and I, not sure what to do with my dying love for you,
        get up around 3 a.m.
                                                 and make myself
              a cup of hot milk

          there is no tomorrow
  only here, this warm whiteness,
                 sip by sip

              the night drips
       out of my eye sockets
      contaminating my milk