Wednesday, eleven o’ clock,
lying on my bed, in the dark,
I called you.
Five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds,
should I hang up? But–then, you answered,
suddenly & finally, tears rush down, competing with one another.
Gazing at your smile, your
concerned voice, as if you were here,
What’s wrong, bǎobèi?
Bagged burdens of thoughts,
already heavily shoved inside,
but still broods back in and up, flowing down.
I miss you,
I miss you too,
I miss you too much…
We put, each other, like a hanging moon, in one’s heart.
Crescent moon, can only mimic your smile,
warmth it carries, passes through the plastic screen, and across the Pacific Ocean.
Twelve hours, twenty-seven minutes, what’s more–
seven thousand, fifty-eight miles,
distance, an invisible but palpable barrier, stretches and connects us.
To call, every single night–a routine,
to swim, across the Pacific Ocean–an imagination,
distance, still is, undeniable.
Time, like distance, is vast and demanding;
unlike distance, it fades,
without asking, it fades–but thankfully, memories remain.
As I stroll through the app history,
I smile–faintly, maybe ironically,
these chat bubbles, trivial proof of our connections,
brief and lively, proof of life.
The bubbles come to the surface from the deep ocean
and we both hold our breaths.
Every moment, frozen in the biggest gallery, our memory.
