Well,
You wouldn't see me by the time you read this note. I’m writing it actually in the depth of night. 4' o clock in the morning, virtually alone at your apartment, I can't fall asleep, the stomach is aching. So are the brain, and the soul. Helpless tears wouldn't resist dropping, and the awful loneliness bites. I’m homesick, very, very, deeply homesick. Well it's in deed a progress that I can define it now, that being this lonely is being homesick. It must be much better than being let down by you, isn't it?
But you did nothing; in my cold blood I know it too well. You said nothing either. After 3 weeks' parting, it now feels awkward to talk, to dine, to touch, or even to care. I try to understand it as a consequence of having said too much, some time ago, fought too hard, and lied too good. But did we ever talk then? Did that conversation like staff ever occur? Was it really yours or my voice ringing via the wire? Why, weren't those just imaginations? Most likely, we never talked, never shared, never assured, never appreciated, never pitied, and never ever really enjoyed. The company, the tones, the facial expressions, the lines, the voices....... weren't they but gadgets of the brilliant game called love? Now it's played, and with all qualities of a good game, it's even dramatic and fast.
And despite any regret or hatred, there can be the final relief and peace of mind. And despite all the disappointment served and all the beauty wiped, the victory is yours. I’m the one utterly alone and empty, hurt and tired, pale and, homesick. Guess there's no need for any apology from me now, as it'll be in deed hypocritical to claim so. The decision has been made: this sleepless night, these bitter tears, this loneliness at soul...all such brought by being with you, is now done.
A girl like me, will never understand the mute sessions, will never make sense of the sharp contrast between conversing on wire and in face, will never find love with a discontented soul. It’s nobody's fault. The lack of ability to trust and love is just a symptom, a neuro.
I did realise the effort made, and couldn’t' deny that it was imaginative and kind; but words, as elegant as they were, are impotent. In spite of all the will to get closer, the distance is stretching. So why not take it easy? Why not give up trying? Why not stop changing myself from what I’m destined to be: if love is the battlefield, then I am the runaway solder. Run away and set free....wipe the tears and make a smile, take a bow, and bury the pain. I did love, oh yeah, fortunately in the dreamlike April spring time...I dare not nor will attempt the future of it, though, knowing that this thing called love renders only weakness and harassment. Like a pill to take only once in a while, my dose this time, is served.
Well, if you're still here, if you've not torn all this apart, thank you, and please don't blame me for being fragile. I will not be, not in a short while. Believe it or not, it really takes longer to soften a heart than to harden one.
So take care and good bye, beloved, bon voyage tomorrow...
Ever yours,
Ying
