Dear ghost,
I need not have to tell you the woes of my war. In middle of this starry town, I have been bewitched. I have succumbed to the swing of this sweet sins. Yet after all the nectar, I am unbearably yearning for the woods. I want to get lost in winding path beneath the moonlight wearing peace. I want the hem of my dress to sweep the sorrow of my yester years. I want it all to rain on me like war-torn showers to wash away my shame. I no longer desire to fear my tomorrow. I want tomorrow to come and have some tea and leave silently just as it has come.
Yours even as I fear to be.