Tonight I sit feeling empty, and wondering if I should write to you. Or if you would write to me. I feel so drained and tired. Nothing interests me. That evening keeps coming back to me, where you read to me the poetry of the moon. What a poem it was. I asked you to send it to me. You never did. The wind was blowing my hair and the sea was making such a noise. The sky was overcast and hinted of rain. Our cottage of wood was beautiful and cosy. So were the wooden benches on which we sat. We sat there drinking beers and drinking in the scene. I will never forget it, it was as if in a dream. I felt I was moving in a dream. Surreal it was. I took a flight, just to see for two days, You were practically a stranger to me, and yet you were not. I felt I had always known you. And yet ..yet….for you perhaps…it was just two days….for me….it was a memory to last forever..We sat there till the skies darkened and the stars came out…and the wind continued to blow…everything was dark, save the white froth on the unruly sea. You pointed out something dark in the sea…said that it could be a monster..I didnt feel scared…I just felt alive..I felt that perhaps I was dead..and this was all a dream…the moment was so perfect. Some moments cant be replicated…because those moments are perfect moments. Thats what life’s fabric is made of. Those few perfect moments. That moment…where you stood by me and pointed out the stars..and said…”This is perfect…Everything is perfect..”. And it was…I didnt need anything more..