Brushing Against Silence

: What are you writing so much?

: I found no better way to multiply sorrow than this scribbling. As if you and I are brushing against silence itself.

: Enough punishment, stop now. Doesn't this betrayal of memory burn you?

: You are very close to my heart.

: Answer my question.

: I've spread out the long dust-gathered reed mat, sit calmly, such restlessness doesn't suit you. You who are peaceful like a river. River waves will crash against our ferry, the crimson sun's rays will fall upon you, gently you will touch my hand. This much is my prayer.