You were thirteen hours ahead when you decided to light up my blue screen
in the middle of the night saying Why haven’t you called me? Don’t keep me waiting.
I thought you must have known that I was asleep, so I didn’t reply until
thirteen hours later, dead set on keeping you waiting.
Maybe it was guilt I felt when I finally picked up your call,
in my head I pictured you by the telephone, waiting.
Have you ever felt guilty of making me wait?
Waiting for love, waiting for patience, waiting
for reconciliation and recognition. You were telling me something
I should care about, and I was waiting
to tell you about the two dead squirrels I saw
outside of my apartment that waited
to cross the road but still got hit by a car. You’d say
The nut is greener on the other side but I’m still waiting
before we both ran out of time. I wonder when I will run out of time.
When the knife got too close to my wrist I pictured you again, waiting
by the telephone. I’m making spicy cucumbers the way you taught me.
After salting I put them in the fridge to wait
for a night, the night you lit up my screen saying
Why did you never call me? Why keep me waiting?
You are so far away it’s easy to forget. I had convinced myself that I exist in a vacuum,
where dead squirrels are still alive and knives are never too close to wrists. Would you wait
with me before crossing the road to get to greener nuts?
Come on! Don’t keep me waiting.
Now I’m lighting up your blue screen in the middle of your night.
You pick up and say 何紫蕾, I was just waiting.