There’s a girl standing at that place over there,
grasping a golden bell in her hand.
Where it is raining and the water washes away without a trace, downhill.
She was kicked to the curb by some stranger outfitted in black
and left to be all by herself at three in the morning.
The rain
drip drops,
drip drops
all over her face.
It leaves a trail of make-up streaming down all over cheeks.
She crouches to the ground and her hand is trembling
while she is shaking that golden little bell.
Ding,
Ding,
Ding,
it rings softly.
From a distance, a person can’t see her waterworks,
but through the restaurant’s window I can.
She pulls out a note from her coat’s left pocket
and wipes her weeping face with her sopping-wet sleeves.
She stares at that note and its message is clear:
the stranger in black abused her and disposed of her.
As I was about to walk out to lend her a hand,
the sounds of bigger bells ring.
Ding,
Dong,
Ding,
Dong.
Her gaze goes astray and you see her snap in that direction.
The bells sound one more time
Ding,
Dong,
Ding,
Dong.
And with a blink of an eye, she vanished.
She sprinted away so secretly and soundlessly,
so that no normal human being would have seen her.
All that remains of that sad girl with the sodden long sleeves
was that golden bell she was jingling,
left behind in a puddle near the gutters outside.
I pick up that smooth, golden bell as a reminder of what’s precious in life
and discover the note neatly tucked inside,
for my eyes to read and soon realizing it has come to her end.