The night before I left, heavy rainfall had replaced the dry heat. I stayed awake to the sound of pelting rain mixing with his breathing over the phone. Our last goodbyes had never coincided with my time of departure.
Short for tears, I poured what I had left in a letter addressed to him. This dragon year to come, I would watch him perform by the red strings of fortune. A black notebook left empty awaiting his beloved. The shield of tradition had braved my attacks. I surrendered.