The pad thai I ate ten months ago was replaced by the same bowl, in a different restaurant now. It was bad.

I work in an area where buildings try to imitate your country.

That cup of coffee we ordered at midnight was gulped, emptied, released. So we continue to consume countless cups of bitter and sweet. They probably have numbed our tongues.

I repeat our music over and over again, though not as usual, not as dreamy as today.

My memory of our last spot in the French restaurant had been colored with another romantic story. I refused to sit on the same couch.

I have worn and washed those clothes when we were together. Should I wear them when I see you again?

The streets, I used to reminisce, but now neons dull into neutrals.

I don’t know. I don’t know. Can we stay young, go dancing into new memories?