after Christina Im
love, let me begin by saying that yes, I am afraid of dying
without ever having loved or allowed myself to be loved
by a woman like how we are taught that staring
at the sun will blind us but when I try it it never really does,
so i place my hand on my chest as if to keep the warmth of blood inside
and try not to combust with every exhale, pretend
to avert my gaze in shame when my teacher says Wu Zao was the Sappho
of the East too loudly on Zoom, say I do not claim her,
act as though every time I turn my face towards the sun I am praying
not to betray my nature like she did, hoping that I haven't inherited
this daily desecration, this disease, instead of thanking
our stars for this knowledge: on this side of the earth,
my love will only be mourned as a sacrifice
to those who can dissect the moon into a man’s touch,
so when I say I wish to fling myself into the sun I really mean
that I would like to smolder with the horrid and heavenly
heat of it, that I wish my love was not untouchable,
that I want to love myself in spite of it, that I am beyond
ecstatic to learn that we have always existed, centuries upon centuries,
our fingertips burning with it - our love so beautiful it does not belong
to anyone but us, yes, us, love, splintering silently into light -
love, let me begin by saying that yes, I am afraid of dying
without ever having loved or allowed myself to be loved
by a woman like how we are taught that staring
at the sun will blind us but when I try it it never really does,
so i place my hand on my chest as if to keep the warmth of blood inside
and try not to combust with every exhale, pretend
to avert my gaze in shame when my teacher says Wu Zao was the Sappho
of the East too loudly on Zoom, say I do not claim her,
act as though every time I turn my face towards the sun I am praying
not to betray my nature like she did, hoping that I haven't inherited
this daily desecration, this disease, instead of thanking
our stars for this knowledge: on this side of the earth,
my love will only be mourned as a sacrifice
to those who can dissect the moon into a man’s touch,
so when I say I wish to fling myself into the sun I really mean
that I would like to smolder with the horrid and heavenly
heat of it, that I wish my love was not untouchable,
that I want to love myself in spite of it, that I am beyond
ecstatic to learn that we have always existed, centuries upon centuries,
our fingertips burning with it - our love so beautiful it does not belong
to anyone but us, yes, us, love, splintering silently into light -
Emma Chan is the Editor-In-Chief of The Hearth Magazine, a mental-health focused teen publication. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Writing Awards and the National Youngarts Foundation, and published in Eunoia Review, Kissing Dynamite, and elsewhere. When she's not writing or reading, you can find her wistfully contemplating the meaning of life and what she should have for dinner.