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— % & — % & — % & — % &

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Every passing year is like an old cello tape
stuck in between the pages
of your new diary.
If you try to pull it out,
the page will get ripped apart
so you are in a dilemma
whether to keep it as it is
or pull it off preserving
no remnants of it.

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You say that
you are a wildflower
and I believe you
because only you can
grow spontaneously
yet be the most beautiful.

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Will you hold me like Sibylla
if I were just sand grains?


//Caption

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A thanksgiving letter.

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And when you slide your fingers over the piano keys,
our love is like the symphony that escapes it,
preserving soothing remnants of our affection
at the gentle whisper of your fingertips.

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Part 2

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