Old

Crowds come and go, like tides Some drift away with the ebb On the shore of memory They leave marks of varying depth In the lingering warmth of “when people leave, the tea grows cold” There is mixed A thin sorrow of passing time And mixed as well A silent questioning Of one’s own weight

I am like someone
Standing alone
In the center of an old house
Slanting sunlight passes through the window
Dust drifts slowly in the air
Laughter and low voices of old days
Seem still clinging to the walls
But if you listen closely—
There is only breathing
One breath after another
Echoing

I stroke an old piece of clothing And yesterday suddenly unfolds Faded denim A loosened cotton shirt What my fingertips touch Is not only texture But also a certain afternoon By the window of a café Half a dessert pushed across the table And that joke Left unfinished The clothes remain Yet the person Has already receded into A softly blurred shadow In memory

In the contact list
There is a name
Long fallen silent
The avatar frozen in an old season
The timeline drawn into a straight line
Like a gentle
Yet resolute rest note
The conversation stops at
“See you next time”
And that next time
Sinks into the lake’s heart
Never to echo again

Passing through a familiar scent
I suddenly stop
Osmanthus just beginning to bloom
Moss after rain
Or the smoke from a small eatery
My steps slow for a moment
As if waiting
For someone beside me to say
“This smell reminds me of—”
But my side is empty
Only the wind
Passing through on its own

During festivals
Blessings pause in the input box
Some names
Make even a simple “happy”
Feel too solemn
The cursor flickers
The screen finally goes dark
The noise outside the window
Belongs to others
Here it is so quiet
You can hear
Time flowing past

The save file of a two-player game
Forever paused
Two characters
Standing face to face
Their actions unfinished
Never loaded again
Yet never deleted
It becomes amber on a hard drive
Sealing away
An aimless afternoon
Once shared

Scrolling past an interesting video
My finger hovers over the share button
The impulse gently extinguished
It is quietly saved instead
Stored away
In a folder only I can see
The person who should have received it
Is no longer
On the other end of the list

Old friends
Are the imprints left on the shore
After the tide has receded
You know
The waves once reached here
And you also know
The tide does not stay for anyone
You simply stand
And watch
Until a new tide
Comes in—
Creeping over your ankles
Slightly cold

This is new water now.