Eighty Daylights

Dear Diary,

This letter to you as an inner scream, oh a silenced one; thoughts about how I see glow worms against the dark, somewhere, I hear their glimmers. Ah! maybe only within the figments of my memory which turns out to be night, forever; shadows of fallacies. I don't know why I always talk about the light, is it because I see it way too much and yet I don't see it at all? Currently the lamp light, upon the street out of my window dims the darkness with but a few reveries. I know there's something beautiful in it; a wave of nostalgia which the eventide brings as it seduces my heart into a drug-like peace, just to rive it again, volcanically into a dystopian state. The stairs down to the hall got nothing at all of my footsteps for past a week. I feel I exist but not as much as I should, as much as I want to. I feel homesick at home, for long I've not known a belonging called so. I don't know if I bear a place in these worlds, any more than the coffee stains do on a paper cup. Know not if I am a posy leaf or just a wild unsung sea weed. I guess right now I am the latter, hiding by a rock and the iciness makes me call to heavens for death.

My chamber cold, except for the fireplace; I feel these are terminally ill days. It's winter at my window when it's just May. And many ages hence I fear it'd yet be the same. And life is not even all what I write about but a corner of a page burnt and charred. No one ever, no poet yet could verse a song called the mirror image of life. Yet they have most probably sung a mirror image of death.

Wild thoughts run through my head, some have materialism resembling a shipwreck. I don't remember my venture's origin, I don't remember the colours of the flags on my home coast, cause all I see is a drowning sea, and an island just in my hopes. I know beneath there is some sand I could rest my feet on even if I'm dead. And in my heart I'm trying to see the summer in the sunlight glowing bronze my window sill, I hope in eighty day lights, I'll find one.

And when I hope, I feel birches.

With love,

Em