The darkness stretches before my eyes; the sunset is just beyond the skyline. I know, I know but I don’t see the light. The rain is pounding. It is rattling on the windows. It is pounding, pounding, pounding; it is unrelenting. I find it soothing – the drip drop against the awning. The world has changed. I see the high rises with lights on all night. I see the bright skies shining from below, instead of twinkles of white. It has definitely been a few months since the air was dry. It has been a few months since I cried.
It is cold outside. My fingers swell up from the cold. I can barely hold on the railing so I go inside. There is a bed. It is not my bed, but it is my bed. It does not matter, it is time to sleep because I need to dream to remember. I need to see. I smell the past in the sheets I brought from across the sea. I close my eyes and I see everything. I hear the words “最想念的人是你, 別走.”
I open my eyes. I cannot think in Chinese. I cannot think. This bilingual, third-culture bullshit has me reaching again. That recurring nightmare that haunts me. “別走 寶貝 別走.”
The rain is pouring. A hole opened up in the sky. I can see the moon, hiding her light. She is hiding the ceremony of purity. She is hiding that which can rescue me from fear. Is this punishment or deliverance? I am looking for salvation, but I cannot dream. Sleep only brings fear. That fear is fueled by three simple words. That fear lingers behind the strain of my eyes. Bloodshot, as I get up and check the mirror. It is not yet midnight.
I have to think. In the darkness of my eyes, in the blinds of my mind, I switch, I switch, I switch. 妳好嗎? 我到了 妳卻離開了. 還是其實離開的是我. 說過不走 妳當時拉著我 我卻沒牽住妳的手. 到底是到了還是倒了. 這傾盆大雨中 妳還在嗎? 我分不清 這到底是不是夢.
I cannot think anymore. I close my eyes. I sleep.
Sunrise awaits, in a few days.