Of all the letters I have sent to you, there is one that was burned by the sun. I had reached out to the sky to touch the falling charred paper. I could only thank the stars that it did not burn the dove. I could only hide the charred paper between the pages of the book I have never read. If I ever decide to write the letter again, I hope this time it reaches you. I hope this time you will reach towards the sky to hold the letters so that you could keep it between the curves of your heart. The words are simple. It does not have the world's secret. It only holds my secret that I have forgotten over the years. So everyday, I collect the pieces of memory that connects to that secret. That secret that I desperately adore and wish for. And wistfully write my letter to you, my lovely ghost.
Yours even as I fear to be.