Letters to Yoon.
I don't even know myself, so who can know me.
Why does my life feel like an incarnation of your pain? If this is it, then I need you more than ever in my life.
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I could imagine you playing the piano by the seashore. Holding the notes long enough to hold your thoughts. The blonde locks fall and cover your cold eyes. The clock is ticking behind. The piano soothes but the ticking is eerie. Even though you don't say much I worship you, but the notes that you touch, I believe in them.
A light array of notes brings me down and your vocals echo in my head.
"Dream."
The notes become stronger and more sustainable switching from more classic notes to bizarre ones. What did you dream about when you put your fingers on the ivories? Did it evoke your reality? Or the rickety thread between dream and reality was glowing neon, waiting to break any moment soon.
The more you play on the keys, the drums join in and the melody sounds complete. But was your dream fulfilled? Did you pull on the thread as you boarded the bus and thought about the music that was going to change your life, for the better? Did you pull on the thread and realize you were the one who was being pulled? Pulled into this magnetic field between dream and reality, constantly questioning yourself.
"Dream. "
Utopian world. Emotions. Feelings. Thoughts. Vivid descriptions. Nightmares. Did you dream? Or your alter-ego did? Telling millions of stories with one word. Dream. Was that your dream? Or is it that the reality you think is a dream? My dreams were unacceptable in real life.
The dreams of colors. The dreams of black and white. The dreams of me living in a grey world. The dream of seeing you. The dream of stepping on the green base. The dream of watching the dark sky. The dream of being accepted. The dream of success. The dream of letting go of the pain.
All unacceptable. I am stuck with my dreams. Every night they play like a vibrant documentary as if mocking me and telling me that I can never be that. Are dreams supposed to bring you down or make you fly?
"Dream."
You dream of tints and tones. Your dreams of playing the chords. Your dreams of producing. Your dream of inventing and renovating. Your dreams of speaking a thousand syllables with the drums beating in the background. Your dreams of reality. And what was the reality of your dreams? I guess I know it now. Shrinking and expanding into stars.
I found myself sitting in front of me water waves hitting my feet scent of the sea in the air. As you played along I got lost in the music but you held my hand reminding me you were there.
With your charm around my neck and the breeze hitting my face, the sand in my feet with the heart that holds us. I wanted to play the keys for you. You were cruising ahead of me, Humming to yourself. Happy in your heart, maybe?
We were the same, Yet so different. It was a dream. So close. So far away.
