上個月回老家

鄰居還在曬梅子

隔壁的阿成

前陣子

也走了

小時候偷摘果子

大人罵都不服氣

現看誰都

低頭哈腰

只為

活口氣

老屋前的

那棵楓樹

年年都

紅過一次

可我總是趕在

它變色以前離去

說自己有多忙　多重要

多不得不努力

結果換來一堆

沒意思的

成績

我問自己這些年

到底得到了什麼

沒車沒房

也沒有存款

但我怕孤單怕沉默

曾說要帶爸媽去旅行

結果他們

老得太快

還有多少抱歉

永遠沒機會

補回來

老屋前的

那棵楓樹

年年都

紅過一次

可我總是趕在

它變色以前離去

說自己有多忙　多重要

多不得不努力

結果換來一堆

沒意思的

成績

以前覺得

「以後」很多

以為愛

可以慢慢說

到了如今

還在原地

等什麼

等夢想被

換成業績

等情書變成

舊日記

等熱血被生活

消磨殆盡

當年暗戀

那女孩

孩子到了小學的年紀

還記得當年

想寫給她的

幾句情詩

我笑說自己

不適合幸福

她也沒再多問

是我錯過太多次「現在」

再也不敢承認

老屋前的

那棵楓樹

今年又紅得

特別美

可我站在樹下

卻開始覺得愧對

不是對誰

是對當初那個

滿腔熱血的

少年

他不懂

時間一走

就不肯

回頭

風一吹

落葉像在提醒我

人生不是只有

明天可以等候

別再為了不確定的未來

浪費了確定的快樂

該愛的　該笑的　該錯的

都別再推脫

請別再推脫~

老楓樹

安靜地掉了片葉子

我知道

它懂的

Last Month, I Went Back Home

The neighbors were still drying plums.

Ah-Cheng, from next door,

passed away

not long ago.

When I was a kid, I used to steal fruit.

The adults scolded me,

but I never listened.

Now, I bow and scrape

to everyone I meet—

just to survive.

In front of the old house,

that maple tree

turns red

once a year.

But I always leave

before it changes color.

I kept saying how busy, how important I was—

how I had no choice but to hustle.

In the end,

all I got

was a pile of meaningless results.

I asked myself, over the years,

what have I really gained?

No car, no house,

no savings.

But I fear loneliness, fear silence.

I once said I’d take my parents traveling.

But they aged too fast.

So many apologies—

never got the chance

to make them right.

That maple tree

in front of the old house

still turns red

once a year.

But I always leave

before the leaves change.

I kept saying how busy, how important I was—

how I had no choice but to hustle.

In the end,

all I got

was a pile of meaningless results.

I used to think

there was plenty of "later"—

thought love

could wait to be spoken.

And now

I'm still standing here,

waiting for what?

Waiting for dreams

to be traded for performance goals,

for love letters

to turn into old diaries,

for passion

to be worn down by life.

That girl I once secretly liked—

her kid is already in elementary school.

I still remember

those love poems

I wanted to write her.

I joked that I’m not meant for happiness.

She didn’t ask further.

I’ve missed too many chances to say “now”

that I no longer dare admit it.

That maple tree

in front of the old house

is more beautiful than ever this year.

But standing beneath it,

I start to feel ashamed.

Not ashamed to anyone—

ashamed to that younger me,

the one burning with passion,

who didn’t understand

that once time passes,

it never turns back.

When the wind blows,

the falling leaves remind me:

life isn’t just about

waiting for tomorrow.

Stop wasting certain joy

for an uncertain future.

The love, the laughter, the mistakes—

don’t put them off any longer.

Please—don’t put them off anymore.

The old maple

quietly dropped a leaf.

And I knew—

it understood.