Yuanfen

Lyrics

I didn't believe in maps I couldn't read.
Or forces I couldn't measure.
Gravity, yes.
Magnetism, fine.
But this...

The teahouse was crowded that Tuesday.
Smell of rain on hot pavement, jasmine steam.
I was looking for a place to put my coat.
You were looking for the sugar.
And we stood face to face.
The proverb says we shouldn't recognize each other.
But I knew the shape of your hands
before you ever reached for mine.

They call it Yuanfen.
They say the Old Man Under the Moon, Yuè Lǎo,
ties a red thread, a hóngxiàn,
from my ankle to yours.
An invisible thing.
I didn't believe it.
But I felt the pull.
A thousand li, a thousand miles,
across oceans I never crossed,
I felt the pull home to you.

How many times did we almost meet?
The flight you missed in '98.
The café I left just as you arrived.
The friend-of-a-friend who never made the introduction.
The thread must have snagged on doorframes,
caught in the wheels of taxis,
stretched thin across the years.
But it never, ever broke.

And they call it Yuanfen.
The Old Man Under the Moon, Yuè Lǎo,
with his book of names and his silken string.
A red thread, a hóngxiàn,
from my history to yours.
An invisible thing.
I didn't believe it.
But I felt the pull.
A thousand li, a thousand miles,
across all the lives I didn't live,
I felt the pull home to you.

Some people say it can run out.
A celestial account that can be overdrawn.
That we have to tend it,
this fragile, fated thing.
It isn't a debt to be paid.
It's just the quiet work
of not letting the knot come undone.
Of holding the space the thread made for us.

So here we are.
Face to face.
The pulling has stopped.
The journey is over.
There is just the thread.
A quiet red loop around this room.
Around this table.
Around us.