To you.

A flower that blooms, that is not pleasure.
A flower that withers and dies, that is not pain.
Xue Tao, d. 831 AD

Dearest friend of mine,

You and I are both on the same path; reaching out towards that which is ultimately unattainable. You are buoyed upon the waves of uncertainty solely by the visions of a possible bright future that you have shaped in the depths of your mind. Yet, you and I both know that such hopes are as solid as a sand-castle bracing itself against the rising tide. I, on the other hand, am holding on to the halcyon days of my past; reliving my dreams over and over again in a vain bid to transport myself back through time. Yet, you and I both know that what’s past has passed and, like a 12 o’clock shadow, can never be.

How is it that we came into such predicaments? We are rational people; yet as we listen to each others' stories, rationality is the furthest thing from mind. I tried so hard not to repeat the same mistakes. You tried to start anew. I thought my defense was impenetrable. You decided that you would chip slowly and steadily through the wall even if it took you a lifetime.

And so, here we both stand. Don’t you see what we’re both trying to do? I don’t want you to end up playing the fool. And as sure as time passes, I don’t intend to be fooled twice.

I solemnly and honestly tell you now: Abandon your plans for I fear they will come to nothingness. Like flowers, everything in this world is transient. Self-preservation above all else because if you do not love yourself, who will?