A Nightmare I Want

The more I try to forget, the more I remember.

Like a nightmare that replays every time I close my eyes.

Nothing can cure me now,

Death can’t even end my sufferings.

I used to believe the lies I told myself,

That one day time would rewind.

I used to think that everything was all a dream,

That one day I’d wake up.

I used to take the pain of missing you like as though it were a joke,

But got tricked twice, like an idiot.

I’ve kept everything the way you left it,

That way you’d know how to find your way back.

I’ve held onto the impossible hope that you’d be back.

Even if it’s fighting with you,

Or arguing with you.

At least I was with you.

You’ve moved on with your life,

So why do I keep living in the past,

Too afraid to let you go?

In the end, I’ll be the only one crying again.

The more I try to forget, the more I remember.

Like a nightmare that replays every time I close my eyes.

But if that’s the only way I can see your face again,

Then I’ll keep my eyes closed forever. 

The Cost Of Seeing

I can see.

It’s not what most people would call an achievement.

But to me,

It’s better than riches or fame or anything else in this world.

I can finally see

The white clouds floating in blue sky,

That I’ve only heard of.

The bittersweet coffee brown,

That I’ve only tasted.

The soft pastel colored clothes on me,

That I’ve only felt.

I can finally see.

I can finally see.

So where did you go?

I can read the books that you liked.

I can watch the movies that you enjoyed.

But if I can’t see the face that my hands are most familiar with,

Then I might as well be blind again.

I promised that you’d be the first person I see.

We waited months and months for this gift.

The doctor always said,

“Only those who have passed can grant your wish.”

I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,

But you told me not to worry.

When I went into surgery, I asked for you.

The doctor said,

“He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming.”

I woke up to find a note in my hand.

“Didn’t I tell you that I was handsome?

Look in the mirror and you’ll find me.”

I looked at my reflection and called for you.

The doctor pointed to my eyes and said,

“He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.”

Both our wishes have been granted now.

I can see and you can always be able to see me.

But had I known that the cost of seeing

Was to spend the rest of my life alone.

Then I would have asked for riches or fame or anything else in this world.

At least then,

I’d still be able to hear you whisper,

“I love you.”

Let's Never Meet Again

Somehow I found myself standing in front of your home again.

A place that was once open 24/7 for me.

Somehow I found myself sitting on the bench where we once sat.

Crying as though you were leaving again.

Somehow I found myself calling your phone again.

A number that was once always in service.

“You love me?”

The last thing I asked you.

“Forget it, let’s end this.”

The words you wanted to hear.

“Let’s never met again,”

My rash promise that you fulfilled.

“I’m sorry”

You whispered with your last breath.

“But I love you,”

Your kiss goodbye, drowned by my misunderstanding.

Every time I wake up in the morning,

I wonder about what you’re doing.

Every time I check the mail,

I hope for a letter from you.

Every time I cook,

I make a serving for you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I asked too late.

“I love you,”

The words that once made your heart beat faster.

“Come back to me.”

The promise you can never fulfill.

Silence.

You have no more breaths to spare.

Silence.

You couldn’t feel my kiss, my tears on your face.

A year after you left I found myself at your final resting place.

Telling you the words I never had time to say.

A year after you left I found myself standing a bridge we once walked on.

Thinking that I saw you in front of me.

A year after you left I found myself looking at my reflection in the sea beneath me.

Crying because I all I see is you.

I reach out for your hand,

And the icy waves engulf me.

I reach out for your hand,

And I feel you warm my entire body.

I reach out for your hand,

And I feel myself getting closer and closer to you.

I wake up in the same place you died,

Except I’m crying when I should be laughing.

I wake up in the same place you died,

Except I don’t see you.

I wake up in the same place you died,

Except the doctors in white saved me.

3.7 Seconds

When I close my eyes, tears fall
Thinking about the day we met.
Just a normal hello, nothing special,
Our goodbyes already destined to be said.
Such a short time together, too short to love.

It took,
3.7 seconds,
To introduce yourself.
3.7 seconds,
to say goodbye.
3.7 seconds,
To sincerely whisper,
I love you.

If only time could rewind,
I'd spend the rest of my life with you.
Stuck in the past, by your side.
Such a special story,
Of two sad lovers.

It took,

3.7 seconds,

To introduce yourself.

3.7 seconds,

to say goodbye.

3.7 seconds,

To sincerely whisper,

I love you.

I can't catch my breath,

All alone in this loveless world.

I want to,

Just go back to those few seconds,

When you came when I called.

But now it's to late.

It took,

3.7 seconds,

To introduce yourself.

3.7 seconds,

to say goodbye.

3.7 seconds,

To sincerely whisper,

I love you.

3.7 seconds,

If I could trade places with you I would.

3.7 seconds,

And you left this world.

Waiting for someone

Villanelle

While roaming on a busy beach,
I sit down on an empty bench,
Waiting for someone to notice my boring brown eyes living in a distant world.

Staring at the blank blue sky turning gray,
The gray sky turning black.
While roaming on a busy beach.

Staring at the people leaving.
Wishing that someone would laugh with me.
Waiting for someone to notice my boring brown eyes living in a distant world.

Feeling lonely,
As the moon travels across the black canvas.
While roaming on a busy beach.

Sitting close to the water,
Waiting for someone to notice my thick, black hair blowing with the wind.
Waiting for someone to notice my boring brown eyes living in a distant world.

Waiting for someone…
Waiting for anyone to love me.
While roaming on a busy beach,
Waiting for someone to notice my boring brown eyes living in a distant world.

"Noodle Street"

It was one of those rare streets covered with dirt instead of cement. In the few steps that it took to walk down the street, I would encounter many puddles and pebbles would find their way inside my shoes. Houses stacked on top of noisy restaurants and stores lined the dirt road. Broken air conditioners and blankets curtained the windows and the aroma of noodles filled every corner with happy souls. But you could hear the painful wheezing of an old man’s breath in the humid air and see an old lady bend over her near empty purse looking at the few worthless coins. How lucky it is to live in such a wonderful place without dust flying around and dirt roads. How lucky it is to live in a place like this and not “Noodle Street”.

For a twelve year old girl born and raised in towns and cities, dirt roads were only seen in movies. Compared to other places walking down “Noodle Street” was walking down the main street in a ghost town – forgotten in the mist of modern troubles. I could walk across the street without waiting for my streetlight to flash green and only encounter a few bikes, while if I had done that in downtown Beijing I could have been killed. Although “Noodle Street” was less populated than other streets it was defiantly livelier. Every store sold something different and had different signs hugging the windows. Some stores wore flashing neon lights that stood out despite the fact that the sun was present. Some stores put lucky cats dressed like glistening butterflies at their doors that rang a chorus of hellos when someone passed by. Each store also seemed to represent the people working in it. A sold out concert with screaming fans, each with their own chant. A small store dressed in yellow ribbons that wrote out squiggly characters sold make up and other accessories. The shop next to it was a bit dimmer in light and had heavy purple curtains pulled back so that customers could see some expensive silk placed behind the windows; the workers in this shop were older in age and talked as if they had been frozen in time. It was hard to see how people could be possibly happy while living in a place like this.

The restaurants were no different. Waitresses floated across wooden floors like lilies on water. Chefs cooked while singing to songs. Customers filled every seat in the small-one-roomed restaurants, each telling ancients jokes to the rhythm of clapping bowls and chopsticks. Waitresses laughed at every joke – even though the customers all tell the same one. These restaurants were very popular, although the only thing they sold was different types of noodles. Customers would come everyday and never get tired of the noodles. I couldn’t understand how these people could eat noodles everyday and look forward to it; how they smelled the aroma of noodles everyday and not throw up. I couldn’t understand how “Noodle Street”, a dirt street, could house so many happy souls. The people living there didn’t seem to worry about taxes, they didn’t seem to worry about what to wear tomorrow or even if they could keep their soon-to-be-laid-off jobs. How the people living here could be happier than most of the people I’ve known have ever been. I couldn’t understand how “Noodle Street” was just a few steps from a busy highway yet looked like as if I was living in the early 1900’s. How can this be?

For a twelve year old girl born and raised in towns and cities, dirt roads were only seen in movies. Perhaps it’s the fact that I take everything I have for granted or that I was too busy in my own little worries that I couldn’t stop to enjoy what I have. Seeing the people on “Noodle Street” made me realize how much I really have and how much I should appreciate my belongings. How lucky it is to live a life with such ease and not so many hardships.

Sound of Perfection

I lifted my body slightly off of the black wooden bench – the beads of sweat on my thighs were making me feel disgusting. I was going crazy; it felt like that at any moment I could jump up from adrenaline and do something harmful to myself. But I held back that feeling with all my might and breathed in and out listening to the silent shuffle of a hidden audience. I placed my fingers on the pure white keys and felt them contaminate the keys with sweat. Everything was a blur to me – the glistening keys, the rush of emotions, the muddle thoughts that were pouring into my mind.

“This is it,” I thought, “This is my chance to make it to the top. One mistake – one note too short – and I could lose everything I spent a year working for…” I began to play, at first the white and black notes all became a mixture to me. They all felt the same, slippery and heavy. After a minute I could finally tell which note was which – it’s amazing that I didn’t mess up yet. I played through the piece, with every part of my body sweating along. “This is the end. Just one last –

Wrong Note.”

The entire audience sat a little straighter. The evil wrong note that had to last for four measures. My hands trembled until it was over – as though they were trying to slide up and down a violin’s string to find the right note. I could already feel tears well up in my eyes. I could already imagine my parent’s response. I could already hear the Song of Perfection fading away.

He

He’s the dog you see in someone’s backyard,

Trapped behind a fence,

Looking at you,

With uninterruptable black eyes.

You can’t tell if he’s telling you to run,

Or begging for your help,

Or if he’s just plain hungry.

And when you walk by him he starts to bark,

But you don’t understand his words.

He might be saying “I love you”,

He might be warning you,

He might just want kill you.

But you won’t know until it’s too late.

He has your picture in his notebook,

Glued in securely,

So that he can never rip it off,

So that everyone can see.

You have his picture in your notebook,

And from time to time you lose it.

You’ve never even shown your friends,

Because there’s a possible rejection.

He’s the one,

Who leaves roses at your feet,

When you’re looking for a banner,

Hanging in the sky.

He secretly takes your blame for everything,

But you just think you’re lucky.

He follows you around to make sure,

That you’re eyes don’t get puffy.

He feels so bad,

Seeing you so lost.

So he decides to help you,

Until he pays a cost.

And when you think you finally catch on,

You ask him to confess.

And on his face,

His answer is drawn.

No need for words,

You’ve misunderstand.

He’ll take you around the world,

Like as if you are a trophy.

But you don’t seem to mind,

Because you think that he’s worthy.

Then one day he’ll be gone,

Faster than the wind can blow,

He’s found another medal,

And then you finally know.

You act like the world is ending,

You stop eating and thinking.

You stop pretending like you care,

And those pills you have under the bed,

Start screaming for you.

He came like the wind,

And he left the same way.

You were tricked by the mastermind,

And he left you astray.

He’s the one,

Who stands in front of you,

When you suddenly turn around.

He’s the one,

Who pulls you away,

When you follow the wrong crowd.

Yet he’s the one,

Who leaves you,

When he’s played enough.

He can be so many different things,

Who can you trust?

Gourmet Pasta

Some people call it a plate of happiness, some people can't care enough. Some people just eat it like it's nothing, some marvel its beauty. Those lactose intolerant throw up if they eat it. Those poor will treasure it. Those rich can eat it often. But no matter who has it, it is looked highly upon in today's society. A plate of gourmet pasta.

It’s more than just something you can buy and place in the microwave. A plate of gourmet pasta needs to be made with care and treasured. (LOL) Making pasta is harder than it seems. You need to put just the right amount of olive oil in it that it tastes good and sticks together – while not making the pasta seem greasy. You need to cook the pasta until it’s just right – not too soft yet not to chewy. The pasta shouldn’t fall or melt away once it touches your mouth and shouldn’t make the eater’s jaw ache because it’s too chewy. The pasta also needs to be able to maintain its taste and structure for a long time – even when it goes cold. Rich people (in my opinion) take way more time than necessary to eat one bite of food, because they talk and laugh and whatnot then calm themselves before eating. (It’s kind of like a habit they have) So if their pasta happens to go cold, it can’t get soggy and the olive oil can’t all leak out making the pasta look disgusting. It’s difficult to make pasta.

Not only is it hard to make it but it’s hard to decorate it too. When you see all of that pasta placed on a huge plate ten times its size well… you have to do something about it! You can make a sauce and draw a design on the pasta, but make sure that the color is good and that the taste of the sauce also enhances the taste of the pasta. You can place some of those green herb leaves on the pasta – but be patient and hold your hand steady! You’re plate of pasta needs to be appealing to others AND taste good. Not so easy to make gourmet pasta anymore is it?

Some people call it a place of happiness, but to me it’s just another math problem that I need to solve. There can be many different answers, but which one is the best? Which solution best fits the problem?

Of Course

Standing in the only open space in a filled parking lot, admiring what we are living under. Pointing up at the stars and airplanes floating above us, with heads arched back.

“Do you see that?” he asks, gesturing at a tiny light in the mist of the dark sky, I nod. Of course I can see it; I always look in your direction. “That’s Jupiter,” he whispers as his round eyes reflect the lights around us like fireflies in a jar. I continue gazing up at the planet, amazed at how he could’ve known that.

“Really?!” I ask childishly, he nods.

“Can you see how it’s rounder than the stars around it?” I nod. Of course, no matter what you say, I’ll always believe you. Our perfect moment is interrupted as others join us, but he doesn’t mind. He takes time to tell every newcomer everything he had already told me. I stand by his side the whole time listening along. Of course, I’ll never grow tired of your voice – even if you whisper the same line a thousand times over and over again. We walk back into the crowded restaurant and glance at some people walk by celebrating, while others are mourning. Even though there are so many people to talk to he still seems so lonely. I bring him to a row of toy vending machines and watch him read the instructions on an unlit machine. “Li – line up – arrow – with – st – star…” he stutters, eyebrows furring. I point at the yellow words on blue surface and read.

“You have to line up the arrow with each star twice to get a prize.” I explain, but he stares at me blankly so I translate the instructions into Chinese. Of course, even if we sometimes can’t understand each other – I’ll always try my hardest to translate and comprehend you. Suddenly a little girl runs up and grips me tightly around my stomach. I brush her hair from her face and kneel down beside her. She asks me for two quarters but I don’t have any so I ask him, “do you have 50 cents?” Instantly he whips out his wallet and places two quarters into my hand. I give the coins to the little girl and as she’s about to spend the money, he holds out his hand and stops her.

“Wait! That’s a state quarter!” he shouts, pulling the Maryland quarter from the coin slot. He dumps out every coin from his wallet and finds a normal quarter. He places the new quarter into the slot and the girl turns the knob. She opens the cover of the machine with excited eyes, reaching for her prize. But there is nothing there, her smile drops and she crosses her arms. Quickly he tries to find two more quarters but she runs away to complain to her dad, leaving us to a loud silence.

Yet even thou there is silence between us, our minds are filled with unsaid words that speak louder than the people around us. Of course I love you.