Post card
We had a rendez-vous under the Palm tree
Where the sand is white like a veil left on our sorrows,
Where the sea is beautiful like a flower grown from our hopes,
Where the sun is bright like a lighthouse built from our love
The birds were our witnesses, the stones our pillows and the wind our music
I missed you.
Once, Zhuang Zhou dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuang Zhou. But he didn't know if he was Zhaung Zhou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterlfy dreaming he was Zhuang Zhou.
