In Search of Shelter

Can you give back that handful of feelings I painted in dreams?

The death of feeling is so terrible—the fear of losing it the very next moment, an aching heart frantic for unclear words. Day after day there have been silent pacts, could you touch my body in that trembling darkness?

Still, I've gone to the tree again and again...to be torn apart by the pure wind, counting those nameless moments when emotion seemed to touch only you...truth and falsehood, sin and virtue—how much permanence do they find in this world?

I am terribly scattered, you know? Right now I needed you so much. As much shelter as my touch seeks in the depths of your chest...take care of yourself.