The Consecration of Touch

I don't know how to address you at the start! I want to devour all your writings suddenly, but I don't want to finish them—deliberately! I don't know why, but I long to touch the words in your writing. Your writing gave me tremendous strength during an unfamiliar time, yet I never tried to express my gratitude.

"What has kept you well, that very feeling powerfully speaks through the resonance of your words."
"As much as your heart's words had paused in this keyboard's rhythm, how many storms of writing announced your existence—surely that feeling is extraordinary to you?"

Ha ha ha, no, it's not quite what I thought! Touching you, knowing you—this isn't just a writer's perspective, but woven into it is the powerful current of your firm existence's contemplation. There's absolutely no way to ignore it.

I never had the audacity to walk this path with you, and I still don't. You too couldn't bind yourself to relative well-being, could you!

Why am I crying? My tears' countless particles never reach your line of sight anyway.

You know, "Today I've written across the pages—I feel like loving you so much more! Even controlling myself feels so exhausting these days."

I don't have the audacity to touch you, nor do I regret not being able to get very close to a beloved person. You are perhaps the most beloved person in my life.

"One can love a beloved person from afar; not everyone has the good fortune to love from very close."

I never had the ability to touch you. "When I courageously sent you that word of address in the mailbox that day, did I understand then that if I couldn't bring you to my thoughts, even breathing would become so painful?"

Those phone conversation memories, permission to touch you in response, the longing to remain in your eyes in this city of separation—among all these, I first found the end of waiting.

Do you love?

I too surrendered to unexpected love's embrace. How much I love you up to this moment remains unknown even to myself.

You asked me to call you 'you' intimately, wanted to come close, but I couldn't manage it that way perhaps! Looking into your eyes, I felt a strange peace. Why, I don't know!

Believe me, at this moment, yes—centered on this very moment's feeling, I decided this person is right for me. I can never forget you in this life, nor do I want to.

Will you let me sit at your feet?

That deep place in your heart isn't for me; I don't have that worthiness either.

I've had to stop on an unprepared path, yet I'm holding your hand tightly. My heart wants to bind you very carefully within my chest until life's end.

What you want to say by looking like that isn't unknown to me either.

"You know, touching you, the mind becomes absorbed in infinite love's thirst; throughout the body, only you reside everywhere."

"When you called me close like a friend the moment I embraced you, do you remember?"

You said even if everyone loves, even if they're in relationships, they can't become friends.

In the exuberant crowd of calling me 'you' intimately, pulling me deep into your chest said it all—that moment was only ours!

You know, today I thought I'd just keep writing. If this time passes and I can't write anymore, I won't stop!

I'm remorseful in your gaze's intensity.

You stay well, I must go!

I had left correctly, but this time I understood—your existence is written in my soul.

Even in the color of deep anguish, inside my chest now there's only you.

"I realized love lives in moments, lives in feelings."

Listen, in feeling's whim, even today you are only mine.