Paradox

There is this string, the length

of my heart’s width.

It’s one end touching the memory bank

and the other, forsaken land.

And there is you clinging on

in the middle, biting like an ant.

It does hurt, yet I’m always careful,

hoping you’d never fall.

It’s like the grass bending and bending,

afraid to lose the drop of dew on its tip.

It’s like the no-name land

between two neighbouring countries.

Both know that it causes disputes,

yet neither is ready to let it go.

It’s like tickling your stomach.

You laugh and laugh until you cry

But you shout to make them stop.

And you never know why you do both.

Let me make it clear.

Pressed flowers,

handcrafted dagger,

unsent poems -

Everything beautiful

with a story painful

reminds me of you.