Sometimes, the written letters can be less than nothing.
When I write a ‘castle’
You can see most anything that goes with it
Including the mountains, river, people, soldiers and so forth.
But really, it’s just a word
That never existed, or exists, or will exist
In ways I’ve dreamed of it.
Too great, too beautiful
That is how it shall be described
But never have reality.
If I erased the word I wrote,
In a few months along with my limits of memory
The castle shall be gone for good
Just like before-
Gone as if it was never part of anyone’s memory.
That is what makes letters sad.
When I do not destroy them
They stay there for good
But only upon the papers.
Then, my tears hang –
One by one they will make the slides –
But only for something
That never really was true.
You see, you wouldn’t have meant it this way
But now see how much it takes me back
And then brings me back to these trivial waves of emotions
That will soon be erased
Even from my side of memories.
As if it was unreal
As if it was just a part of a novel.
Regretful remnants of sweet sorrows flowing within me
Should finally impress you,