I miss her so much, my friend…
I miss her gaze,
the almond-shaped eyes,
the black hair and the strands
I used to gather every day from the bathroom floor.
I miss her round little cheeks,
which I watched so closely
until I lost myself in foolish loves.
I miss when she would say 亲亲, 抱抱, 贴贴,
and let me dive into a sea of another language,
another culture, another life.
I miss when she complained
that my arm was heavy before sleeping.
I miss watching her focused,
and quietly toasting her intelligence
just to myself.
I miss seeing her cross the street,
tasting our first ice cream,
holding her hand for the first time
and all else that the tears
no longer allow me to remember.
What a lament!
She tears apart the fabric of my existence
when I least need it,
when I most need it,
when I am nothing,
and when I am everything.
When I want everything,
and when I want absolutely nothing.
She is, indeed, a great parasite.
And perhaps I was cruel
to enter her life.
But what greater cruelty
than to give me back everything threefold
the pain,
the longing,
the sadness.
– Painting: Death and the Gravedigger (1895) by Carlos Schwabe, Swiss painter (1877-1926).