Find Me

Listen what I have got to say: Find me now. Not tomorrow or the day after. Do not wait. I have waited long enough. Although I am not lost, I want you to find me. Find me between the trees, above the ground, dirt and pebbles. You do not need to leave traces of bread in case if you get lost, I'll get lost with you. But find me first — when the daffodils bloom in the midst of cold spring, when the wave clashes to the shore, when bubbles of salt and water seeps into the sand. Find me in the least familiar place; like a tourist finding their way in a crowded traditional market of a strange city, when they bump into sweats of strangers, bizarre local language; I may be somewhere in the long process of understanding the broken English and funny accent. Or in the aghast of discovering blatant beauty far from home. I may be somewhere in between the spaces of your fingers, or your sentence. I am not lost, I am right here; building the bridge that I have burned, for you to cross once again. Find me in between your hope and regret. Find me before the sun rise, in between unguarded conversations about the future and ashes of wasted cigarette with your car's window half opened. Find me in a verse of a song that catch you in weird mood that makes you sing along or dance to it when no one is around. Find me between the time difference across the Atlantic. Find me in between the announcement of departing flight or at the arrival gate. Better yet, find me at the airport — because I can't stay. You can't stay. We can't stay. We are not here to stay. But still, find me, look for me. Find me before someone else does.