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  • Writer's pictureHelen Yuan

geese on chrysanthemums

Style: Poetry

Writer's Statement: For that person, who sat with me and the geese when the chrysanthemums bloomed.

it doesn't matter to me anymore

i say, when i don't know

if it ever mattered in the first place 

or if it's really mattered all along and i'm lying 

you're here, isn't that enough?

i can sit out the discontent if you'd 

sit here with me

isn't that enough? that you're

breathing still, and so am i

you can sit there if you don't judge me when i cry

what more can i do? i don't know 

how it'd affect me, if you or i die

you're placid, i'm asking; you didn't tell me why

why do you think i would question you?

i can't tell if it's what you believe, that i

would not, could not, have you care

it's only that i'll never ask; if i matter to you

you'll do so, say so, bring it about

if you don't, i tell you okay. whatever.

at two am, when five “whatever”s later,

it's kept me awake for over a year

or perhaps it was actually five minutes, who knows?

time crumples your true-hearted words to lies.

i watch you as you watch me, minutes trickling by

you're not–and don't want to be–my savior and i couldn't be yours if i tried 

so i do the same, but i won't ask anymore

it doesn't matter to me, anymore

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