To a dying soul inside of me
who once dreamed of happy endings and timeless stories
Here in a piece of paper trying to remember how to write you. Like a love letter burned in ashes, the ink I once thought indelible is now hardly read.
Do you remember the castles we've built, the beginning of love, the death of a feeling? That distant dream. Like how far the moon is from a withering orchid.
Its beauty was etched in my memory. I came back to remember you. But the road was full of thorny bushes. It was a road not taken. My pen hardly writes by itself but I do recall.
I have written a love so profound that along the way, all its meaning was lost. Life made it hard to define, the love in me included.
You have seen me salvaged what was left. I crossed the ocean with a boat with no sail. I conquered sleepless nights to reach your dreamland. I flipped pages, so we can read the same lines.
I failed, in the most terrible way. Like a dancer who lost a leg, a bird who couldn't sing, a firefly with a dying light.
Life crippled me so bad, I couldn't love you. But I still tried, again and again. Because this is something I want everyone to remember even after its end.
I regret it, you have become a fleeting part of me. This love is a gift from heaven, too tragic, too late, but was never a dream.
