White Flowers

In the morning rush hour, flowing in the crowds. Same street. Same speed.
Anything different? Does the world become tender to me?
My conscious is blurring. My body is lightening. Will I fly?
I'm certain, I'm drifting away and fall down, down, down to the ground.
I cannot hold my sight between the dark and the stimulating bright light.

Let me fall...
Don't worry about my delicate black skirt or my fancy spikes, and the white carnations I bought for me this morning.

Let me fall. Let me fall softly.
I hear people talking and walking by, fast.
I like the feeling of lying here, releasing my tiredness away, slowly.

Who brings me here? to this quiet...quiet place where I always want to be.
Rain is now falling. Flowers are flying toward me, one after another, till they cover me completely, like a velvet quilt. The balminess fills the air around me, licks dry my happy tears. In my life, I never received this many flowers—they are white, the color I like.

This is the day, I'm fully embraced by the sunlight.
This is the day, frail me , can never never cry again.


April 16, 1998
Savannah (the day when I was tired)