This might sound crazy at the moment,
but I believe in superstitions.
It’s what my parents taught me when I first had my period
and told me to skip three steps in the stairs to lessen my bleeding.
I believed that we can’t sweep the floor in the night
for fear we might sweep out the good luck.
I believed in jumping your highest when the clock ticks at twelve
on new year to grow an inch taller.
It’s because of superstitions, I believed.
I believed in life after death,
I believed in Santa Claus because he finished the fresh cookies I baked
for him under the Christmas tree.
I believed that nothing lasts forever.
But I also believed in you.
I know it might sound crazy that I am making a poem of you, my love,
with superstitions.
I apologize but it can’t be helped.
Because I believe that every time I accidentally drop my fork and see it
lying front faced, I get excited by the thought that you’ll come and visit me.
It’s everyday that you appear in my head.
From the morning I wake up, you’re the first I think of and the last
when I silently fall asleep.
And I am sorry if you keep hitting yourself at every corner or biting your tongue every second.
It’s because the moment I didn’t care about superstitions that I believed
in every promises you made to me, because to me,
everything you say is like every fact from a rare textbook I never thought would be true.
I didn’t need superstitions any longer, because I knew you were real.
I believed we were made for each other because the map of our left palm matched so perfectly.
It’s because I believed in you, I was scared to lose you that I may lose myself as well.
And the day came, I realized that you were an illusion of the truth I believed in,
that really was … a superstition.
I still bled for seven days instead of three.
I never grew an inch when I jumped on new year.
I started seeing things that weren’t supposed to be there any more in the first place.
I caught my dad finishing the cookies on Christmas midnight.
From the moment you chose to walk away from my life, I refused to believe.
I matured badly in terror because I still think about you every night when I cry myself to sleep,
and I’m sorry if you ever hit yourself or if your tongue bled because of bites while having
dinner with your girl.
I’m sorry, but after everything that happened, I still believe in both of us.
I refused to have dirt swept under me when I sit because
I believe in marriage that you’ll be there waiting for me at the altar,
crying that the girl walking to you in that white wedding dress
is the woman you’ll happily spend your life with forever.
And if there is that one thing I believe lasts forever, that is the both of us.
And even how much it hurts me now, I believe that you are
an illusion of a superstition,
And it will be shaken to uncover that you are my truth.
And every time I drop my fork by accident every now and then,
I have my hopes up that one day, maybe not today,
you’ll find your way back to me with the same love.
Because I still believe that we are for each other.
