The sheet is wailing for some troubled letters, and the words are struggling to be
heard, and I comfort myself with a pen that reflects the shape of my heart, I leave
these notes under my pillow waiting to be found, hoping they might fell in your hands
accidently, and words will tell, exposing the look in my eyes, uttering the breaths that’s
been held inside, and as you seek beyond the lines, look further and you will feel my
ache, whisper my words with your lips, so I would listen to my heart in the tune of your
Those sheets are weeping beneath my pillow, yearning for a touch of your hands,
praying to be suppressed in your fist, keeping me up all night listening to their grieving,
until a new born dawn floats among the smothered air, composing an epitaph in the
consolation of the forlorn words.
And oh my darling, how I pity for the weary pen that sews the letters in the sake of
you, and how I envy it, oh how I wish I was a pen emptying all my heart on some white
sheets until my time is through and then I could sleep in peace.
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