The love letter, to nobody..

A sigh to silence the Heavens, as the pen starts running on the pages, the ink spreads gently through the rows. Rows of memories he thought they had been lost a long time ago. Rows spilled with fear, grief and sorrow. The only things that keep him alive. With a song in his head and a spark in his eyes, the poet yet fails to write an ending to his final story as the blade keeps on descending…

A candle burns away as the window opens wide, spreading its ashes onto the pages. Now his memories are all but gone, spilled by the dark which tried to hide them. The full moon is the only thing that lights up his sinful mind. Drown forward like a moth to a distant moon. And here at last, he had discovered a strange truth, that he is only a conduit for a message that eludes his understandings. “Who are we, who have been so blessed to share our stories like this, to speak across centuries?” The poet steps into the light of the moon as he is focusing his eyes on it. “Maybe you will answer all the questions I have asked, maybe you will be the one to make all this suffering worth something in the end.”

Rain drops start falling from the night sky but, still, the poet won’t quit on meditating. Lanes of memory paved by sweet frozen moments are dying in front of his eyes as, with each thunder, it gets more and more dark and cold in his bitter soul. An old tree swaying its branches through extremes. The leaves falling from the dying tree are the words he will never tell, the memories dying inside his own mind. “How much an eternity lasts? ..sometimes just a second.” A tear lingers down his cheek, finding its way to the ground as the poet slowly knees in the center of the room. With a begging voice and shaking hands, he shall now talk with himself for the last time, for he slowly fades away within his mind.

The sound of the resonating tide and a clatter of a bell is what he can all but hear right now. He finds himself at the end of a dark alley. There’s a door in the darkness. And as he struggles his way through the door, a voice of a young woman impregnates in his mind. “Beautifully shy as you are, never lose your heart and do come across.” He enters the world and there forever remains to be devoured by the starving crows lingering upon his rotten body, bit by bit biting of his sinful thoughts, leaving nothing but a childish innocence.

Rushing waves from the very essence of the falling moon. The calming waters of the resonating tide. The oneness and solidarity with his soul has now torn him so that his is scarcely whole. The person he once were, has all but gone.