"You're like the moon on the water's surface. When the ripples are gone, you'll become the perfect reflection of the moon again."
Then you can't touch me, can you? Is anybody able to reach me, if I am but a reflection of a distant longing?
There is a breeze that stirs the surface of the water in which I sleep. For a brief moment, I feel as though connected to the outside world. Once it dies down, the calm that follows the restoration of an unresounding peace placates the tremours spread by a beating heart.
Even if you would drown yourself in this body of water, the ripples that distort my flawless reflection eventually seize to be.
Unaffected, I continue to bask in moonlight.
I am not real.
I do not exist.
Rakutarou, sail along the river bank on your lotus flower until the Eagle swoops down, under the glory of the Sun where I no longer am.