13.11.2018
Old Street
A few faded photographsGave me a little bit of nostalgia
The hot noodle soup that the old grandpa at the end of the alley sells
The taste diffuses through the old backyard
The wandering cat sleeps on the rocking swing
The sunset shines on its eyes
The postcard sent by the kid at the same table
Quietly rests inside the school desk
The spring days that are about to be over
The door still have the carvings on them
The two sides of the narrow and long aisle
The smoke coming from the old house
The drizzle that just finished from the rainy season
Dad and mom walked through the alley again
Can't remember what year and what day
A really long yet really short time
Now it is too late to return to
The scene that has long gone
The train ticket that is slowly becoming faded in your hand
Became a symbol of the memory
I don't know what not forgetting is like
I can't remember what it was like back then
The place I can't see or visit even if I wanted to
Perhaps the accent of the old street is part of my sadness
The smile at the corner of my mouth is becoming harder and harder
I don't know what not forgetting is like
Unable to put down the familiar fragments
Turned around and looked and it's been so many years
Looking through my fingers at the sky
I am back to the old street
Leaning by your side but slowly drifting away