A little melancholy. A little meditation on red bamboo. Enough to explain myself this evening. Not enough to be different.
I’d like your forget-me-nots. In looks, the hugs, the words. Believe me, I’m not crying. But… I’d like another twenty-four hours. On the fragments that I will hide in my memory.
I know my color-the light of the inner fire. And in the bud of my moods there is everything. Only you are missing.
I walk from the black stripe to the white one. And then I run back to you. How do I connect these two extremes? They’re both beautiful. To the point of ugliness.
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