I look at the keyboard keys and I bleed. I yearn to bleed. Water pours from my eyes, tears for a pain that is not mine, but one that is not foreign. I pause, I think. I think about not thinking, but I think. Snatches of the past. Pulao. A school teacher. Happiness in small things. Spring rolls for thirty bucks a plate. Her laughter. Will she ever laugh again? The tears are blurring me, I cannot type. They blur my head, my thoughts. I fight to get it all out before they can overtake me and my head. Before they can invade every living second of my life. But I have nothing to say. And she has nothing she hasn’t heard.
And just like that, death, my old acquaintance, is back again. May it never become my friend.
Inside of Love 