Art by Elyssa Chou

Writing by Jonathan Chen

When I think of those days, the sun so fair,
warm on your skin, and the familiar clang
of a heart beating in the July air,
and me, rapt by you and my longing,
it’s as if the wine, red in your glass,
spills from me, the emotions left out to dry.
And I can’t help but feel weak, as if
the life in me is lost in each sigh.
So I drift and roam, pine like a bird in flight,
searching for places that will soon cease to be
while I lust for the talk, once so light
but now hardened under the weight of me.
Aching, I yearn for all that cannot stay;
aching, I watch as color fades to gray.