little jae-hwa

Time is currency between us.

Nights make sure to last longer so that we can talk for that much more.

From your apartment, I can hear the clamor of the city outside.

I never knew what life smelled like before until now.

You’ve always had a taste for New York, but I’m still getting used to the flavor.

I look out the window -- if I can see them, can they see us?

Threadbare sheets against my skin remind me of me, but they cover you just fine.

I can’t help but see our timer run down at the sound of your alarm every morning when you leave for work.

I left my childhood at the vegetable stand of my Halmoni Heug in Gurye, Jeollanamdo, South Korea

and nights make sure to to end quicker so that I don’t have the chance to fall asleep.

Your brother’s wedding was the longest night of my life,

and you thought it was so funny that I’d never danced the Cupid Shuffle before.

The wine was redder because it was trying to match the color of my face when you looked at me.

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

The deafening bells of clarity never rang so clearly.

But I’ve always lived my life like a ghost

and I fear I’ll pass through the walls of our home like I’ve passed through all the walls in my life.

Little Jae-Hwa feels so small from being worn down to threadbare sheets.

And she will always spend her life running away from the possibility she’ll be in a place where she can’t.

Your understanding ears let me know you wouldn’t stop me because you’ve heard me.

Time is bought and sold, but never returned.

I'd buy another night if I could afford it.

The door won’t give away which direction I’ve gone in when you get home

and a restless city moves on as the sun sets and the night begins.