Questioning

Dec.18-19, San Francisco

Sometimes you wake up at the night

Characters, from long lost memories in the childhood

Tread into your dreams

Their faces are gleaming in the darkness as the dim lights

You thought you have forgotten them

But suddenly you know they are so close, almost within your touch

Yet they have not aged

Their smiles put you in an anonymous chill

In the morning you walk out to the streets

The brisk winter air refreshes your battered mind

The sunshine is still bright

It lightens everything within your sight  

You whistle, imagining the smell of the fresh coffee and bread

Instead you see the blossoming flowers in the yard of your neighbor

Why do they have all these colors, all these shapes

It all happened over the night, commanded by a cryptic language of its own

There is a thin line between the past and the current

Between here and the other side

When you stare at the wall

Feeling the pulse of the stillness, listening to the sounds of the vanished

Time passes through your window

Leaving a taste of the untouchable

It knows flowers will wither; your phone will stop ringing

You close yours eyes in fear and cringe under the bedsheet