To the One, I dedicated my life,
It's been years since I hoped my scriptures would find you, yet I haven't stopped writing. Every day I wake up in your thoughts; every night, I have a conversation with you before going to sleep. Every emotion I convey to the stars, hoping they will let you know. You are the voice in my head that makes me want to question my sanity. Is it possible for someone else to have become a part of me the way you have? Is it possible for a stranger for years to have become closest? I often dream that we would meet. Sit on a rock near the forest and talk about life. You perhaps look different from when I last saw you; I know I do. Perhaps we have grown apart in many ways, being away for so long; perhaps our minds don't sync anymore. But does that matter? Won't my flute make your heart ache? I daydream about our past. Like it was yesterday. The laughter. The stares. The emotions. Almost like the past is nothing but a dream I had lived.
They say that staying in a Citadel should abide by its rules and regulations. That also means following the cycle of procreation. One is ostracised if one doesn't follow the usual way of life. My family has abandoned me. On the one hand, my people, who send their children over to my humble home for their flute lessons, gossip behind my back. It had become painful staying amidst a crowd and feeling misunderstood. So one night, I gathered my belongings and sneaked out of the Citadel. I knew not where to go. Part of me wanted to go south to find you. Another feared the unknown. So I ended up at our cave. The villagers were kind enough to offer a stay. But every day, I found myself in our cave. I have made it home.
The children take up most of my time. Teaching them makes me happy. All the pain of loneliness that I battle in my quest to remain yours vanishes in their smiles. They are like the family I never had. I end up telling them our story in the guise of a myth, of a cowherd and his devoted lovers. They are fascinated, but the complexity of human emotion is often lost in translation for these pure souls. That's when I imagine a damsel in distress and a saviour knight to their joy. But what about this damsel? She is not in distress. She has willingly tasted the poison of love and is now intoxicated by it. Would the world sympathise with such a lover? One drunk in an ecstasy of the unknown?
Have you moved on? Found someone to hold dear and love? Better than this sorry soul trying desperately to hold on to something that is barely real. I hope you find the happiness I seek with a tired heart and bleak hope. Some day, perhaps accidentally, you can send your offspring up north, and they'd find me. They would have your eyes and smile. I would know. Will I be angry? Jealous perhaps of the woman who could keep you? I smile as I write this. Perhaps not. Because my love is seeking the validation of neither society nor you. It's gone far beyond that in the realms of the soul. Do you understand me? Perhaps not. But it's alright. Even I don't. All I know is that with each passing day, your name, your emotions and my flute overwhelm me. So before I slip away into a world I can't come back from, find me. Once.
Perhaps the voice in your head,
𑀢𑀭𑀦𑁆𑀕𑀯𑀢𑀺
