When we arrive at the top of the hill,
you tell me for the first time that
everything you do is for me.
The sky feels like shivers and the hill is a mountain
and suddenly you are miles away.
When I search in old book stacks
you are in East Asian language and I in South
and just like the kitchen that your smile once lit up like a moon
–when our first kiss was an epiphany,
–like finally getting to close my eyes after restlessness search.
the heat you light in my stomach could burn the paper walls.
And I leave you too. Well, you leave me.
When I am sick and sad,
you whisper that you love me in my ear
and I pretend to not hear you.
But I always fall on my love like a sinking brick,
waiting to be swam under
but I am not a carrier. I am a sinker. Always.
But just once we glow pink in an evening on an overlook
and my blanket seems like it becomes my home
the grass where we sleep.
It won’t rain for days.
I myself will search for a stone cottage so far away
that only grass will ever reflect my heart back at me
The city speaks and it says, there is something on the other side of the fence.
I am the brick when I love in cities.
I am the bird when I love away.
But don’t follow me.