to do with you
what Spring does
with cherry trees.
-Pablo Neruda
Dear You,
Yesterday, I started to write you a long hand written mail. Aki started nibbling at my shoelace and I couldn't finish it.
I went back to it later and thought of rewriting it. But I kept staring at the half-finished mail and didn't get about to writing it any further. It struck me that it was pointless writing it when I don't even have an address to send it to you at. Besides, who cares about hand-written letters anymore? They are a thing of the past now. But I do wish I could write you volumes and neatly pack them in envelopes, label them in clear neat writing, paste stamps and send them off, hoping to hear back from you.
These are, but dreams.
There's no address to write to you at. And you probably forgot a long time ago that there was once this old-fashioned girl who believed in old-fashioned things, such as hand-written epistles and staying in love forever.
I've walked past where you and I said good-bye, a number of times now.
I noticed every day, that the cherry trees were in bloom all the way to the Japanese Embassy lane. And I thought of taking pictures of them for you. But I only walked under the trees and looked up at the spotless blue sky from the spaces between the cherry blossoms and dreamed of you. Never got around to taking pictures.
The blossoms must have started to wither while I looked at the sky beyond. For yesterday, I realized that the flowers were all gone and the leaves had turned a dense green and clouds had started to appear in the sky.
It rained hard last night. Thunder, lightning and wind. I turned toward the window where the curtain fluttered and thought once again of the letter I didn't finish. I started crafting it in my mind, and I guess it tired me to sleep.
When I woke up in the morning, the clouds had disappeared, declaring summer. And I just knew it was going to be several summers before I could even hope for my heart to understand that you do not exist.
Yoursasever,
Me
this stirs my heart
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