Yesterday, we laid on the very thin mattress which was covered with a wrinkly yellow sheet and gazed at the ceiling.

We laid on a grassy ground in the forest and looked up the starry sky. You wished upon a shooting star, which I -a realist- called a falling star.

You wished for astronauts and rockets. My cynical mind chuckled at the simple common beliefs.

You prayed for Pokachino and Munchkin. You laughed at my interjection, asking about Dayeh, which you realistically said was a mere rabbit. Prayers go only for horses.

You said there are 100 Hayas, and we began counting the Hayas.

At night, while you were a few rooms away rising in high sleep, I thought of this;

You will come against so many good things and for sure, unfortunate things. Every time, you will unconsciously consider the 100 Hayas. You will even use a good number throughout your life.

I just wish you’ll always go back to the wrinkly sheet of grass and the painted white starry sky and connect to the small dreamy girl who believes god is “the man” and there are a 100 happy versions of herself floating in the sky, next to all the stars.

It kept haunting me; the words I said.
I guess it was the anger stage of grief. After a day of work, thinking and then a short nap. I have a clearer head of thoughts, which as shown, lacking in pretty deep choice of words.

I’m just going casual in this one, for I felt the guilt my previous angry words have moved in me, and I wanted to fill the dark void of better words.

I know of a man, who ever since I first met him, learned one fact about him;

He was a burden to his family.

His old photos show a handsome ambitious youth.
His siblings’ stories rendered a genius who was to become big, but lost it all in a classic tale of mens’ envy and one woman’s ropes of hope and despair.