A Fistful of Dust

With my bare hands,

I bid adieu to the clingy memories

like a fistful of dust, I blow aimlessly,

the stingy pinching thoughts,

the most silent cry of mine,

those hazy immature wishes,

I release them so comfortably

yet a bit carelessly,

even if I know that

one day they will

swirl around me

being the tough particles

of a stiff dust storm.