You are a rice seedling I have grown in the paddy of my heart, a rope bridge I sway between city and country, a seesaw I use to keep ups and downs like the motion of sun and moon. Tell me when you want to smell the scent of new rice, and I will bring you a whole bag of it grown with my muddy hands. Let’s promise to meet on that wooden bridge when we see each other again. Trust me, our yin yang will spin forever like the earth under our feet.
a strong wish to hear