Changing Hands Poem by Vincent Wong

We always told ourselves we’d be different,
you and I.
We always told ourselves that we
would go through life together,
that we would never change.

I can still see her hair,
a cascade of molten gold, showering over her,
as endless as light that falls from the sun.
I can still see her smile,
a perfect crescent moon,
one that I could reach.

I wonder if she remembers those days,
our hands clasped, lightly, yet so heavy.
As if our bound feelings were trying to escape from us,
to take us away, to nowhere, but together.
But we were young, and we didn’t run,
so we just held hands, holding our heavy hearts together.

I still think of those times, those signs,
when her golden hair rusted to bronze, to iron.
When her crescent lips was eclipsed,
by a cracked crooked mask.
We both hid with false faces,
we wore what we wanted to see.

If I had one more chance,
I would go back and tear away those faces.
So I could hold the hand of a stranger,
instead of seeing ours fumble and fall.
But we kept wearing our masks,
and we never had time to meet again.

We always knew we were different,
you and I.
We always told each other lies
so we could pretend we’re still us,
but in the end we couldn’t accept change.