It was the day several years ago. Sunny as it is today.
It was you sitting at the desk,
outlining the halo deflected from the words.
Tranquilness fell next to your feet
had the sound of a tropical ocean when you stepped on it.
It was the day several years ago. Rainy as it was yesterday.
It was you dashing out of the awning,
pounding the haze to the beat of the laughters.
Drops spilled on the cup rim
had the color of a stayed-up night when you looked at it.
It was the hill flamed with red flowers. Blossoming as it will be tomorrow.
It was you lighting a cigarette,
standing in the pure white clouds.
Particles colliding with one other. Ruptures being exposed.
I stood in the shadow underneath the gorge,
watching time flowing by with sparkles floating on the breeze.
You were up there smiling at me,
unaware that it was even darker
when you spreading the petals on the stream.
If you were ten years younger, and I were fifteen years older.
I would have my glass of champagne clinked your beer bottle
and whisper to you: “The Tigers will win the next game, don’t worry”.
I would put the carrot cupcake on which I’d had a bite already
on your plate and say: “I want to trade it for the popsicle in your hand.”
I would point at the dazzling lights in the darkness while leaning on the railing
and ask: “Can your house be seen from the roof?”
I would invite you to an eight-ball when I was tipsy
so you could see my rapt expression and bent-over body
then come next to me and say: "Let me show you how to hold the cue stick."
Waves again and again
chant the dirge deeply and sadly.
Petals are sprinkled on the water
for there's no moonlight on that day;
My memory submerges with the tides.
Coldness numbs the skyline,
lamenting the deposited good old times.
Time waits for no one.
Who still remembers how he looks like?
No, it's his cousin who's always in red,
asking everyone to keep calm, and...
He still keeps silent in spite of the fact
that he's fading away in our mind.
(A dangling strand of curly hair
a buttoned up, and earrings which never come at a pair.)
Either traffic or time washes him away,
as no one has ever noticed now his shadow under the sunset
is even longer than the toss-and-turn we once had at nights.
He’s the only one who will be quiet when listening to others
but we just snub/phubs him, and keep passing by.
I saw a payphone while I was waiting for the traffic light at a intersection today. It reminded me of the row of payphones at the hallway in my high school. It was the time when there were no cell phone and Internet, and many people would rush as quickly as they could just to make a call during sessions. I admire that the UK still value their traditional payphones and promote them as tourism attractions, unlike those in my country have been gradually forgotten. I feel kind of sad but can't do anything with it.
fill the mug with coffee to fall asleep consciously
close the windows to vent out my delusion
put on a red sweater to render rainy days a blush
stack up the clocks to overlap the tik toks
compose a song without giving it a name
take pictures without inserting a memory card
An old-fashioned way to say “I think about you” is to say
“I keep my diary everyday.”
It's about a fantasy of being in a relationship with someone you know you will never be together with.
the ***** atmosphere a clear skyline.
a pumping subconscious a motionless intention.
a bright gray omen a dull red novel.
(shattered and picked up, shattered and picked up.)
looking forward snowing scared of winter.
cramming the leaks draining the pond.
tiredly awaken clear-headed asleep.
(buried and dug out, buried and dug out.)
imagining a garden mowing the sprouts.
chasing the stars scrubbed by the dusks.
lamenting the stream exalting the clock.
(grasped and slipped away, grasped and slipped away.)
When you find out you are just a spec of dust in the entire universe.
July is the best season to buy basketball shoes.
I still remembered the first time I smelled your perfume,
my heart fluttered, as I found out
you smoke the same Marlboro as I do.
The weather of July
makes everything become so long.
Long enough to take a nap,
to make a heavy rain in my dream.
Let me bring you an umbrella
after you got totally drenched.
And the best part of July is that there
are countless blue skies to be wasted.
The white cloud doesn't look clear enough on the camera,
so I take out my guitar,
singing French songs one after another.
You make me want to keep my diary
everyday in July.