Memory

Taking all the flowers and insects in it, I kept the bunch in a vase. I never have seen the truth of you, but guessed the wind of heart, the blow. Once spoken words became heavier, I rummaged the mail-box, I couldn't deceive my felt-feelings. It wasn't you, nor your shadow. Yet, I set the vase near my home's window. Pour water and left it to the air, to the sky, to a road (where it leads I don't know) . Who tells what, don't come on the way to my fantasy. It goes like camphor, as a page once read, half in mind, rest in the wind. The insects also won't love to stay in discomfort. So is your memory, wants to evaporate... But, some insist to stay, Still, in inbox. Never to be deleted.......