The suns get closer and the dawns get earlier, but I can almost taste her again, for the first time. I smell her, even now, through a thousand dreams, past six thousand miles, and maybe one more, through the many days and weeks and someday it will be years, all my dreams meant for those days in our youth, when we were too young to care, those days I’ve spent every one since trying to hold onto, to recreate, with different faces, different cities, foreign languages, and miles upon miles of fiction.
Maybe if I get it right on paper, if I can type the letters in the right order, make the words sing and dance, a syncopated symphony to bring it all back to me.
There are so many days I can’t remember, so many faces I never cared to know, and so I sat on my roof, stared at the stars, howled at the moon, breathing smoke and a promise of better days, ones without blackedout eyes and misremember memories, my life all cutup and rearranged, spliced with dreams of mine and all the ones I’ve heard and lived in from different voices, different hands.
There are days I fall apart inside myself and breathe only those syllables that make your face alive again.
It was supposed to be so easy, but nothing ever is.
Korea’s full of ghosts and they’re processing over the mountains beyond my window in a deep blanket of white.