• In a faraway world, you are singing happily.
    Are you also collecting letters, writing poems?
    As you caress your seven-coloured wngs, you seem content.
    Then I am content as well.

    In a dark corner of the world, I whisper your songs.
    I write you letters I can never send; I write you poems you will never see, songs you will never hear.
    It's not your fault.
    I blame my broken hold on life.

    All I can do is hope that the breeze will carry my words to you.
    At the same time I wish that it might never reach you, so as to spare your naïveté.
    While you walk through sunbeams, I stare up at this cold, unforgiving moon.

    Ah...I miss the light.

    But only the harsh winter wind reaches my heart now.
    Soon I will have faded to little more than a shadow; faint and wavering.

    I leave the brightest part of my soul with you.

    Someday...perhaps someday I will see you more.

    So until then...Whenever you sing a song...or look up at the stars...

    Think of me.

    ...Won't you?