Bitter Dream Aftertaste

I was in Paris-
at an outdoor cafe,
umbrellaed from the sun.

I watched the bustled city.
People walking, laughing,
speedily passed by moped riders.

I paid no mind
to the food in front of me,
suddenly taken by a warning voice:

“Don’t be surprised if your friendship
drifts away. It’s life.”

Before me, stands my grandmother,
whom I hadn’t seen years before she passed.

Her white hair,
serious tone
still the same.

I looked at her warily.
“Why are you telling me this?”
I began to cry.

My vision blurred.
I couldn’t catch my breath,
gasping for composure.

I wanted to tell her,
I know life paths don’t mean
steady, parallel pattern.

Human relationship can’t
replace loneliness only
Christ can comfort.

I continue sobbing,
staring into her expressionless eyes,
my mouth stuck in a hard frown.

A minute passed.
She turned away,
walking into gay Parisian life.

I cried under cover,
drinking tear salt,
wrinkling my face, a black sky
falls over me.

I open my eyes
to the early morning


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