Reflection
On top of an old rug
smeared with footprints of grey, brown, and red
was a little boy—
who wore a coat, navy blue
and a pair of polished, leather shoes.
His eyes were blue,
like the endless sky above him
Next to him was a teenage girl—
Who wore bangle hoops and black headphones
With a grey cat in her arms
She gazed into the vibrant city lights,
Lightly humming a rhythm with a sotto voice.
Her eyes reflected a burning shade of yellow,
and in them lay a fierce flicker of curiosity
and a vague excitement for a better tomorrow
Across two tables and a counter was a barista.
she held a portafilter in one hand
and an espresso machine base in another
Sunlight illuminated her black hair,
reflecting her soft, hazel eyes into a shade of orange.
In them, lingered a quiet protest.
And an unspoken fear for another restless dawn.
Lili Mariline
3 AM in the morning, Fifth Avenue, New York.
She walked down bricky tapestry of memories
All neatly knit together on one breezy autumn night.
The streets were vibrant in neon colors, and the streetlights were dim—
yet, with hordes of moths.
Craving for the flickering of light bulbs,
One by one fluttering to the ground, lifeless.
She re-opened a letter he sent her years ago
and smelt a fragrance of his nostalgic cynicism.
It came from a land far away,
Where bullets were words—-and truths are silenced.
It came from a world so different from the one she lives,
One she has never dared to imagine.
She heard a faint melody of his, singing ‘Lili Mariline’.
Then, she gazed into the distance.
Thinking about the very spark that once made life in her world
And one that had once filled her heart with joy.
With a stream of memory running down her left cheek,
With panoramas of forgone yesterdays running down her other,
And with a dim reminiscence of his last goodbye,
Her castle of conscience reached its last chapter, and then—
She fell.
Memories of Kindergarteners
This ground bears the memories of kindergarteners
Mashed flowers and a sandbox, the hot sun baking two plastic slides—-
And a child, fallen from a swing—running to her mother.
This is the last ground she’s touched since then,
as she felt the hands of a million, pushing her down.
Burying the girl’s arms into her beautiful nature,
This is where she sank—and sank—
Wrapping herself around the warm, bottomless sandpit.
This is where I saw leftovers of a Hawaiian pizza, rolling on the ground.
This is where I played hide-and seek with my parents, after school.
This is where my friend walked her dog, wearing that pink ribbon of hers.
This is where I stood barefoot, building sand-castles all day.
And this is where I last saw you, after all these years
This is where you carved that map of mahogany inside my heart,
As you plunged into the unreachable abyss,
on your own.
Alina Lee is a high school student at an international school in Seoul, South Korea. Her writing explores memory, identity, and the quiet moments between people. When she’s not writing, she enjoys hiking, running, and playing the ukulele. Her work is inspired by the natural world and the rhythms of everyday life.