Origin

You would have said, “come on, do it again —
forget about them, remember what matters”

I remember the scratch on the skin,
the scrapbook full of cutout pictures, and the pens. 

a heavy metal music played from earphones. 
A fragment of sun light glistened on your sclera. 
Everything else was just a noise. 

quietly, tenuously, you scribbled. 
Against a wall after a wall —- you carried on. 
A flower blossomed in the crack of the wall. 

The rain, coffee, book, movie, and violin. The heavy silence. I remember them. I remember what they stood for. 

I will carry them on. 

5.1.2026