301/ August 9, 2011 - A Plain White Card
FRONT: WHITE SPACE AND RED LINES DOTTED FOR NAMES AND PLACES AND WISHES. THE TEXT IS IN KANJI. THIS IS A POSTCARD FROM TAIPEI.
I write out of urgency. There is a blackout all over Gainsborough; it stretches past Dryden Street and Darwin Drive, and I am writing hurriedly, […] there are four twinkling candles to my right, they are of the Church-peso kind. These faint lights remind me of your room— the jittery shadows against the soft darkness, the paleness of those orange nights. My heart is wild with hope that I may see you in less than a week. Steal me, delight me with the orangeness of your room. Delight me with you.
[…] I am in love with the simplicity of this night. Outside, the trees have stopped their sighing, grass has paused their fluttering, for the wind has gone out with the light. There is a smudged half moon perched on an eyebrow of a cloud— and there, distant sounds of traffic, constant, persistent, content in their unstopping fluidity, like my loving thoughts.
Hush. Your little moth,
C. (September 10, 2009)
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