My Past, My Future

All Had the Memos of the Reminders of My Life

The Loose-Leaf Binding, Allowing for Flipping Through at Any Time

That Year

I’d Gone Up North

The Connection I Had with Beigang Creek Became

My Nostalgia Forever

That Year

The Very First Book of Poetry “The Blue Star”

You’d Started, Twinkling High Up in My Skies

Became What Helped Me to Read Through the Saturated Nights

We’d Made Our Smiles into the Blooming Flowers that Year as Well

Turned the Loneliness of Our Youths into, Fallen Autumn Leaves

That Year

the tangible, the material…

I’d Come to Understand that Love is, a Waste of Time

But Something I Couldn’t be Without

That Steady Hold for Me, in the Raging Storms

I’d Grown Old with the Sights of That Year

Life Came and Went Quickly & Yet, it’d, Dragged, On

That Year

or

I’d, Rehearsed My Own Wake with Poetry

Imprinted Those Beautiful Memories, into, Life’s Most Wonderful Records

That Year

 I Shall Travel Far Away Never to Return Again

To the Locals Who Don’t Know My Address

Postmarking These Postcards in My Name with the Sights from Foreign Lands

That Year

Using the Lights Radiating from the Shooting Stars Write into Songs

Recalled that I Never Actually Left

And You Can Sing on Every Christmas

So, this, is how someone wants to be remembered after s/he dies, leaving nothing behind, taking, nothing with her/him when s/he goes, and it’s what you leave behind, that weighs more heavily compared to what you were when you were alive.