You once asked me to promise
we’d stay here forever. I peeked
at the birds, staring
like the nosy grandmas who stand
beside the vows, hands clasped in anticipation ––
so I said yes,
but who were we kidding? You have
your law degree, I leave
Shanghai in a week.
We are not the same.
We sit beside the tree building
a palace where we will never
reside; yet, we build it, and we hang
our promise on cherry blossoms
so that they can be our officiant.
It’s funny how “I promise”
always comes with a temporary “forever.”
We don’t hate each other for lying ––
perhaps we are both sick
of this unromantic, impermanent world.
Five years later, the blossoms
will have fallen, you will have had boys
and I will visit our officiant, remembering
the pink that shined like a waning sunset ––
passing bright.
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