Tales of a Chinese Writer

I sit alone on my old wooden rusty desk. Time doesnt go by when I stare outside my window. Overlooking the pond where lilies float, dancing away with life. As I sit gazing outside, I wonder why is it that I feel a comfort in writing. I am a well know writer in China.My name is Bingwen. Poems have been written about me. Women throw themselves at me. But my heart belongs to another woman.. She is beautiful and elegent. Charismatic, and gentle. I fell in love, I write to her every single day. Imagining the day when I will be with her. For she lies in my stories, from my imagination………

I see her, every breathe she takes. The way her chest moves, illuminates a thousand heart beats. I feel hypnotize by her, her beauty, her calmness she emits.  But I know that even with all my sacrifices and having thought so much about the life that I want with her. It wont come true, but I can dream. In my mind and heart, I know its where she belongs.

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