Ink and Moonlight

"Why meet? Because letters cannot bloom spring. Words weave absurdities from wind-chased shadows; Only face-to-face can thaw frost-locked truths between us. --- I. Life, I confess, is fogged with mazes and crevices. Though storms buffet me, I am no willow bending to hollow praise. Do not dissect my ink for tremors of my soul, Nor parse my pauses for choked-back tears. Envy me not—I clawed through deserts of exhaustion to stand here. One day, when you summit your peak and trace the scars on your path, You'll see: every step etches not stones for ascent, but stains on your essence. Time—swift or slow—will sift silt from clarity, Until all shadows part like rivers meeting the sea. --- II. Speak not in riddles of tides and ciphers, As if I were an AI decoding stale metaphors. Your polished words ring hollow, like dewdrops on plastic roses. I'd sooner bask in wildfire—its raw bones staining the sky— Than let you dissect my heart petal by petal, Only to reassemble me with malice-twisted hands. To judge me, first decipher my hieroglyphs of dust and starlight. And when the biting wind asks where I wander, Know this: I walk until blizzards yield to peach-blossom sun. But heed this warning— The storm that lashes me today may tomorrow gnaw at your gates.