What’s inside the drawer? What’s hiding inside?

Everyone put all kinds of stuff in a drawer, as I reckoned.

For these years staying abroad, letters are the way I communicate with my families, and I’ve been putting all the letters in different drawers, those read, or those I didn’t  even wish to open.

As what I’ve done to the letters, I put all my feelings in drawers as well.

When opening the drawers, an inexplicable pressure always comes up, a pressure beyond language, and then I shall put the letter back to the drawers, silently.

It was not real me when replying letters; it was me writing in fake, in lies. I did not really care if we are either fine or doing well.

Wish I can honestly face myself when replying every single letter, that I can fully express my feelings to my family without any omission.

For this time, I’d like to face myself, whether it was me in the past, or it is me in the present.

For this time, sincerely, I shall reply the letters to who I am, whom hardly dare to face what I truly am in these years.