Talk to me. Tell me your story. I am listening this time, I promise…
Or maybe not.
But words will come and so will spring.
Let us see the autumn through. Let the land turn white till the melting sun rises from the horizon. Beyond that, there will be happiness. I promise.
Or maybe not.
But let us not worry about that now.
I’ll write letters to you from the east. My words will keep you warm through the falls and the winters of the sorrow. I’ll think of you this time… I promise.
I am sorry. I am not good at farewells.
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When I listen to Sa Tau San’s oriental melodies, I think of you. As he strikes a chord on his Liuqin, it stirs the madness in the otherwise still air. I see it rise from its lazy slumber and follow the setting sun as it brushes through my hair and face. It has kept my secrets of your longings within for long, faithfully, but maybe it is time for it to follow its way to the west; Unbridled as it is.
Look for it with every rising dawn and then maybe you won’t need words to hear me.
Take it to the darkest of your places and I will walk right in holding your hand.
I’ll light you a candle and will let the flame burn…
Or maybe not.
But the light will come and so will hope.
Let us see the autumn through…
I am sorry. I am not good at writing letters.
