The Dawn Inside the Zoo

One. Which page of the calendar stares at you with eyes as wounded and wide as mine?

Two. When you hold me tight, truly tight, I feel like the luckiest person alive.

I don't know how long I'll live, or even for how many hours. How the smallest distance cracks open the chest like this—it's a mystery.

Three. Even without our words reaching each other—there was never a shortage of melody, feeling never stinged, words never truly vanished. Is this too a kind of faithfulness, of fragility? Or simply love?

I understand, I break, I suffer in non-existence. And yet, I dream of a new dawn—where no one has learned to love me the way you do, and perhaps no one ever will.