Time brought our hearts together where mountains witness—
how—the sun rises,
and how oceans feel when it sets.
Series of paths—
where—our feet crossed,
to the place our minds seemed
peaceful and lost.
Your hands tightly holding mine,
as I keep to look forward
of what was beyond.
Darling, I beg you not to lose hope,
for this climb is much wonderful
to be taken as an adventure.
Breathe the air that I breathe
and wait for the moon to watch—
how—our souls bloom.
The night sky will show us its stars,
as we lay down in silence
with love in our eyes.
Your seed has been covered with so many layers of culture, etiquitte, education, religion, country, that you have completely forgotten that you are here to grow, that you have become a lush green bush full of flowers, fragrance, dancing in the wind and in the rain and in the sun.
Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star. It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn’t even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun