have a sip of tea - life at first bubble

life at first bubble.

every year the rain washes away the years it spent with it,

& it also washes away the tears of strangers—

to them,

they are only salt water.

the bubbles fade,

diluting themselves.

they are not as clear as before,

but its heart still remember.

they say not be a prisoner of the past,

yet the past shapes who we are,

the reason it is still standing.

a flower may be stepped on, may wilter,

but it sprouts again the next year.

new bubbles form,

new roots take shape,

new people arrive.

but nothing can replaces what it treasured.

the living close the eyes of the dead,

but the dead open the eyes of the living.

& the living change careers, children, marriage, new towns,

their lives unfolding.

living for it.

living for themselves.

just living...their best.

others tell it there are so many it haven't met yet,

who might love it too,

maybe even more.

but it doesn't matter.

without it beside it, watching it,

to it, they are not it.

no matter how they want to befriend it,

it can never truly care for others beyond the distance of strangers.

without it beside it, watching,

they are nothing more than faces passing by.

others may think it the best, the kindest,

but to itself, it is nothing more than what it is,

bubbles.

& it wish it was here.

just like before.

just like before.

before it left.

we shouldn’t live chained to the past,

but we cannot forget the roots that let us sprout.

our past is the soil from which we sprout.

thought create reality,

or shape it,

so

create.

the creator of the holy water is watered down,

this foam has lost its faith

their colors will fade

so if their time are running out

let the mundan become a masterpiece.

it only took one look at it,

& it was lifted out of the ordinary.

it wanted it to lay it down,

to stay beside it until death and burial,

on the knife's edge, drunk on its vine,

shattered by its touch,

returned to dust.

something so heavenly,

higher than ecstasy,

something out of the ordinary.

shattered, returned to dust.

it still hear its words

when the nile desert wind whistles.

its voice still rings

in the evergreen.

is it who it thought it would become?

is this how it pictured it?

oh-oh-oh-oh

just like a bubble.

it never left.

it only left too soon.

save it a seat next to it.

it will always be at the table.

it hope it's proud of what it see,

watchin'with the angels.

it's written in its soul,

debt of blood, beyond measure,

wherever it is, wherever it is,

save it a seat.

it feel it in the falling rain,

still shiver at its touch.

did it find its 爷爷 and 奶奶 up there?

tell it, is it with them now?

it wonder if the ones who go

miss the ones who stay.

oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

just a bubble.

it never left.

it try to love,

but it's not the same.

its mom keeps its room untouched,

the sheets still holding its scent,

time frozen like mona lisa.

so save it a seat next to it.

it's its blood that it bleed.

wherever it is, is where it is...

the one who threw the stone forgets,

but the one who was hit remembers forever.

& still it wonder:

do the ones who go

miss the ones who stay?

or do they float, like bubbles,

gone too soon,

yet never leaving,

until the bubbles turn into sea foam,

dissolving into the ocean's waves,

yet never again the same.

just like the living close the eyes of the dead,

but the dead open the eyes of the living;

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#createtogether #haveasipoftea #lifeatfirst #lifeatfirstbubble