A prologue: Tale of the heart
Look at those flamingo pink skies, how beautiful our home is, isn’t it? Look at the waves, look at the wind blowing gracefully beneath your hair. Dear child… has anyone ever told you this tale? Once upon a time, there was an anonymous letter left on the ocean rock addressed to some handsome young man. In the letter was written…
To my beloved,
Nothing good will come when one heart dares to be broken and heal for many seasons. No one would understand, as there are no kind of tragic stories to describe what I endured. No one would seek a glance at the garden of wildflowers that were about to bloom inside my chest, only to die before the spring came. Would it be much easier for me to live a life without ecstasy if that meant I could protect my peace?
I used to long for the translucent kisses of the sea wind, and the glittering blue water covering my feet sending my remnant into the ocean. But I don’t think I do, now. I am scared that love from the mother sea would engulf me like a child in a watery womb, unable to breathe. Nonetheless, there is no use for such a daydream, I think I have been floating in the heart of the ocean long before I realized it.
Fighting against the current, where should I go this time? I want to rest my tired body beside the still water of the lake, but my hands are frozen, unable to swim any further.
When the time appears and your sail meets my trembling hand, please don’t ask me for anything. Don’t ask me where the weight of my burden came from, that it was so hard for you to pull me from drowning. Don’t ask me to lie next to you in your summer house when you knew I would be back to the ocean anytime soon. My lips have been stitched tight because I am a person who drank on any pain without hearing its cause. I have buried my despairs far too deep at the bottom of the sea I no longer recognize who I am.
So, how can anybody understand? How can you still have the audacity to wear a beautiful smile in front of me and think you will never leave?
Hear the waves, I said.
Hear the wind sing, I said.
They will tell you a story no one has ever written. And this time, I hope you’ll understand more about me, more than I knew myself.
So, Dear, what do you think happened to them?
Ps: A reupload, because I believe this Babylon garden dream needs to be gifted to more of you.
