the clock struck twelve, but i still didn't write.
in a room with only the laptop screen
and the blinking cursor as a guide,
it's impossible to find something interesting
that the administrators can consider.
then the thought of your hair loose, swaying as you run
breezily passed my thoughts
and soon enough
the blank page in front of me
was filled a supercut of us.
they were fuzzy memories, hazy ones.
but i felt more cozy and warm
as the video added snippets after snippets,
moments after moments.
my eyes started to blur as i re-witnessed
(after a long time of denial)
the love i felt for you, and still feel.
i'd rather chase you for that ice-cream scooper,
let you read those novels while i count the times you blink,
sleep on your shoulder,
and mouth "go idol!" in the audience
while you perform on stage with unsure confidence
rather than impress those administrators
with fake dreams and promises
of wanting to be accepted in another environment,
where i don't breathe the same air as you do.
as i look out of my window,
i notice that the moon is full and bright,
smiling, i remember you telling me that,
at least, we'll look up at the same sky.
and now with my attention back at the screen,
the supercut was over
and all that's left was the blinking cursor,
pulling me back to reality
and back to the administrators.
