It was mid-June the sky clear as if nothing ever went wrong, as if nothing was ever going to disturb your poetic melancholy. You stood before the tall glass window, walked determined and unsure and suddenly you were before the ocean and suddenly I was drinking tea on the peak of Himalayas this is what I've always loved about you: knowing and not knowing, daring and not caring. making a long trail of colorful paper stars and letting them fly. They don't seem to ever come back. "They don't " , you say. One day , one night, they appear in your darkest hour. When suddenly you are breathing the salty fresh ocean air, when the fresh scented air on top of a mountain makes you one with the running spring, soaring bird, wild flowers, and the shiny little creature that crawls on a dandelion., then unknowingly you felt it in your being that everything you did, said, learned, longed for, suffered or struggled for, no matter how real and harsh, was just another paper star. And only when you let the star go, It came back to you certain, shining and guiding like a true friend., like your beautiful soul.
Hydeh Aubon(6/12/09)
