City of Shared Stories
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My friend sleeps here tonight. I am not sure whether her slumber is one of rest or one of manufacture, brought about by the chemical concoctions running through her veins. But I hope her sleep is a good sleep; I hope her sleep is untroubled by worries; I hope her sleep takes her away from the ravages of disease that her frail frame can no longer realistically take.
My friend sleeps here tonight. They all watch her sleep, thinking about the days when things were much more simpler, if never much less innocent. They think about that one time, that one day, that one moment. They think about shared memories, struggling to accept that they may no longer be new memories to share.
My friend sleeps here tonight. And while she sleeps we work through our guilt. One more cup of coffee. One more chat. One more kuay teow goreng shared over tears of a broken romance. One more day. One more hour. One more minute.
My friend sleeps here tonight. And I am a few thousand miles away, unable to sleep, learning to let her go.
My friend sleeps here tonight. They all watch her sleep, thinking about the days when things were much more simpler, if never much less innocent. They think about that one time, that one day, that one moment. They think about shared memories, struggling to accept that they may no longer be new memories to share.
My friend sleeps here tonight. And while she sleeps we work through our guilt. One more cup of coffee. One more chat. One more kuay teow goreng shared over tears of a broken romance. One more day. One more hour. One more minute.
My friend sleeps here tonight. And I am a few thousand miles away, unable to sleep, learning to let her go.
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