Empty Letters
It was late spring. Flowers unfurled from their buds; fluttering in the slow breeze. With their petals spread out, they watched the people walk by or sometimes stop by the sunshine bathed lake. Over it, a small wooden bridge arched under which you'd usually find two white swans with their necks intertwined. And whenever I'd catch a sight of them, I'd be reminded of my own lover. Someone quite far away with any part of us to be touched and be bathed in sunshine together, but somehow close enough to always have our vines of hearts twirled together.
