kǔguā

By Daisy Dai

Do you think of me the way I think of you?
Do our memories double cross your mind
the way you double crossed my heart?

Everyone says I should be moved on by now.

But I still taste your black soul every time I take a breath,
an imaginary perception of something I never got to hold.

The remnants of you sit in my mouth like kǔguā,
a melon so bitter it bleaches your taste buds with battery acid until everything you taste is hate.

The irony is people say it’s good for you.

Savor it they say. Let it melt on your tongue like candy.
Suck on its juices until your pitiful mouth pleads for
you to stop, to swallow and finally, truly let go.

You’ll have glowing skin. It’s low calorie and very filling.
You’re guaranteed to lose weight after.
It’ll lower your cholesterol.

It’ll make your heart stronger, fonder,
ready for the next one.

It would be lovely to think that you still felt
some sort of remorse.
But I think by now, you’ve forgotten all about me
and rationalized everything you did.

Because if I think about it, I would be so inclined to think
that you never once thought of me to begin with.

I hope you don’t think of me at all,
but a little part of me hopes you don’t
hate me
for saying goodbye.

PC: Misty Rose