Amy Fan

I remember you, on a summer's day,

telling me to conserve resources wisely.

"Take nothing on this world for granted,

as nothing on this world will be forever."

But regardless of lay ahead in the future,

we lived as if life would sustain itself forever.

You were a fountain of joy 

springing with youth and fertility. 

We dove into oceans of wonder

and explored a sea of adventure.

You showed me how to cruise with the flow of circumstances

but motivated me to break free of currents.

You taught me how to be versatile and fluid like a stream,

calm and rushing like a river.

You were my lifestream, my water of life,

my elixir, and thirst quencher.

You wanted me to be unending, 

like waves of the ocean. 

But you when I asked you how,

you could not be my example.

One year from that day, you stopped sustaining yourself

and evaporated into the sun, out of my life forever.

Later, thinking back to that day, 

I realized something.

I didn't know that water existed

until the well dried from underneath me.

Amy Fan is a writer living in Temple City, California.

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