Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Hình anh chụp thiếu bóng tôi

We have grown old, you and I. Our bodies sag, our hearts heavy, and we are no longer brave enough to love so passionately. Your photographs, they don't tug at me like they used to. You've gone soft. Your pictures are sagging like your belly (I would imagine; I have never seen your belly naked). They're pretty pictures of pretty people in pretty poses and pretty places, but they are bland, bland and no texture. That's it. That's what's happened. Perhaps I should ask you why, why you've lost your edge, your kick, your punch, but I don't care enough, maybe because I'm not brave enough, but probably because I prefer to imagine that it's because of me. That's what has happened. I am not there in the way you see the world, and my absence has flattened your view of it.

Hình anh chụp thiếu bóng tôi.
Thiếu tôi thỏ thẻ lên bờ môi.
Môi mềm như trăng thu bàn bạc,
Vụng về tan loãn hết thôi.

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