Daybreak
Do you believe in miracles?
he once asked me
riding our bikes around the Han River
the chirping of grasshoppers ringing in our ears, a melody brewing
the wind so strong, like a quiet, yet somehow blaring beat of a drum, a bassoon playing
let it sink in.
he likes the purple sunsets, reminding him of when he used to paint
his palette, messy, sudden bursts; no
soft, dulcet strokes of color
by now, both of us have outgrown those bikes
friday nights at the saloon became a casual weeknight ritual for him
lively sprints past the cobblestone road and the run-down bakery
and past the waterwheel back home became a peaceful saunter
my bike, left inside the garage, grew old and untouched
clamorous, thundering music diminished to a melodic serenade
he started to mind the long trip on his bike, so he began driving
keeping his head held high, his eyes forward, disregarding the orange sunsets
sleeping in too late to witness the sunrise
he had something else so valuable in his life that was distracting him
explosions of cayenne powder
lights lemon yellow
flickers of a neon granny smith apple
he sees things more sophisticated than sunsets every day now
after dark.
he likes driving after the sun has finished its bath in the sea
disappearing to pure blackness overhead
when he realizes the wash of purple around him seems to be glowing
traffic lights are his fireflies
twinkling beauties,
brighter than the stars
looking down at us
like the highlights in the pupils
of angels soaring above
i feel ethereal, he thinks
thrown into a void of so much gloom
but a paradox, look at the arrays of gleaming hues
is it old age? i ask him
is it acceptance?
a new shade of contact lenses, not for a new eye prescription
simply because he wanted it
but.
if i could hope
before we never see each other again
and even though i know his legs aren’t as active before
i want to take our bikes back to the Han River
watch the stars tango on the low tide
vestiges of radiating ripples
taste his breath, not of his indulgences
but of herbaceous peony petals
hold his hand once again
let the intensity surround us with soliloquy
listen to Ailee’s “Heaven” on repeat
eyes wet, and suddenly we would be the center of the whole world
only.
just a hope. a desire.
seems like the tints of red, yellow, and green took his memories with them
seems like the more i think about him, the more it hurts me
yet.
he is the best choice i have ever made.
so please,
take me to the dispersing lights
to the edge of the world
with him.