A line of this heart remembers
What’s not even in memories.
Flowing clean river hidden in the sky—
The other line of this heart remembers
Only what’s imprinted through relations.
Murky pool standing around the earth—
Don’t have the right to be missed
With these limited memories.
This sky is hidden by the cloud—
Don’t have the right to be remembered
With absence of relations.
This earth is full of locked doors.
Can only miss what’s not imprinted.
Can only remember what’s hidden.
Circled around between hearts
That read what’s not inky written.
There’s an end
To a dream.
It’s when coming true
Or coming dead.
And that’s the light at the end of a tunnel
Of wide spectrum
In which we’re prancing.
Choose your colour.