When I die, I shall not
turn my eyes to heaven;
I shall not smile while forgetting
how to move my heart to move
my blood. My hands will let
go of every heaviness
they gathered, and my feet
will not feel the weight
this world pours into me. My gaze
will fall instead on the walls
between me and the land I left
a long time ago, and for that last
heartbeat already fading, I shall pretend
I see only the door that closed
behind me, opening again into
the place I tried to find
in so many other places.

SAPA, VIETNAM - CIRCA SEPTEMBER 2014: Bridge covered by mist at the Ta Phin Village in North Vietnam

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