Answer
Shu Ting

I believe we’ve met in another world.

Were we a pair of small birds sheltering from rain under the eaves? A pair of dandelions somehow surviving in a wheel rut? I remember I was an expanse of ancient earth, adorned with pearly flowers of dawn; you were young sky bending towards me, casting down an endlessly meaningful regard.

We put on our masks and didn’t dare recognize each other.

I believe we have other names, as yet unrevealed.

You are dream, I am sleep; you are a high and icy peak, I am endlessly grassland; you are an unyielding road lying on green moss at the roadside.

Our colors parted us, we didn’t trust each other.

I believe there’s a language we both speak.

The mute ring of the flower clock, poems the meteorite didn’t finish writing, the glances sunshine and waves exchange, and what the cassette tape failed to catch—hints the distance gave us, rosy with sun’s ray.

If you must speak, I have no words to answer.