Summer is Fleeting, a letter to the summer’s flower
Funny how summer would choose to pack its sunshine and go and not see the rain maim his flowers when they come pouring down on the garden of days. You wish summer will linger, that he cannot not stay — false control, though you can never really tamper with the comings-and-goings that must be. Summer is like water that you can keep within your hollow palm. Love likewise, it seems, is there always, but un-there; clasped, but un-clasped; touched but un-touched — and you’ve resigned to trap yourself this way some more as you take root where you must be.
Like a kite that has a penchant for heights, in connivance with a string — he can’t help but love the freedom that the endless horizon brings. Another summer must start somewhere, and end here.
Funny how one thing all too common becomes uncommon when it is gone or about to go. When something is gone (or going away), it must exist somewhere, you comfort yourself. Only that it mustn’t not leave, and you shouldn’t not stay. I reckon love becomes uncommon that way, and precious.#
february 16, 2010