my mind is an ocean at storm, my memories, sand castles crumbling one by one to be swept away with changing tides.
do not ask me for a name, my tongue is silent— do not ask me for a face, my pen is still— do not ask me if I still see his silhouette when the sun sets slow and the light paints him almost alive and not quite whole, my dreams are empty—
ask me how he likes to burn, self-immolation an art and performance in equal measure; ask me of the gray that follows him like a lost child through the day, wrapped close at night; ask me why my tattoo heart chose him for an anchoring—know I have no good answer to give;
I am standing here in the eye of the hurricane, watching how you drag yourself closer to shore, a dark and quiet state of being, scales blacker than the waters I’d let you sink into so long ago, the only one to defy their depths.
it’s been two years, how are you now? | noah fang liu












