I can't promise to heal you. But if you want to, I will try.

if you have to make me name my one imperfection
i'd tell u right away
its a pity i'm made up of tears

today, in between fishballs and tsuiwah, my world is flooded
with a few things. consecutively:
1. the truth
2. my truth
3. her truth

i remember vaguely there were a few names, a few mentioning of incidences
that never fail to blur the surroundings
something like the fact that
i never knew the kind of sport shoes my brother needed
the amount of time i kept my mum waiting in the dim light
the long long walk i had with dad in paris
the fact that i realise
he never knew
how i grew up in the past 18years


my mum always reassured me:
"he'd done everything a father should've done"
but if there's a little black book of love
i'd like to think theres nothing named "last but not least"
why?
why?
why didn't you even try
to talk to understand to allow yourself be vulnerable for once
i've told you and i'll tell you once again

don't be afraid when you see my tears
it just meant
i've chosen to be vulnerable so that i can still love

please
talk to me
talk to her
talk
before
we closed all doors.