Rain droplets paint the condensed windows
of bus 7019 as a monsoon shatters down. I am coming home
from the Han—kicked out from the storm heaving heavily against
my skin. Since childhood, I have been fixated on

water. Would allow waves to drag my feet from under me &
clasp me in their tides. Once, caught in the undertow,
my body stitched itself into the sea. No desperation to fight
back, I drifted along the coast until the water spat

me back ashore. Here, I feel too much. Every emotion I have
never had, now mazes ache beyond the limits of my
limbs. Before the storm broke, I was peering into the

darkness of the river, concerned all my love & good judgment
was soon to run dry. Searching for the reflection of
an answer, all that responded was the current untangling
soft ripples against the concrete bank. Since childhood,

I have been fixated on the possibilities of what ifs. What if I drink
as much water from this river as I can withstand, perhaps it’ll fill
all the spots of me that have gone absent
. When the sea adopted me

for those twenty minutes [now] too many years ago, I wondered the
same thing. Sometimes, I pretend this doesn’t hurt as much as
it does, but then I call out to the water and it reminds me.

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