She was uncertain for a moment. But as if in a fix, she brought out a paper, and begin to scribble with a broken pencil that looked so old , like herself. : " ... Dea ...A ... oh... I don't know how to begin. Its such a torment, not to be able to speak to you when I can. Truly, I can't believe, you and me... I had thought... that doesn't matter. Anyways. After years... the moment came and... I am so broken. You know me, I never want to miss the essence. Whatever it is. But here's... I am missing something crucial. I can not get it. Its like. I am in between. Help me. Would you? " She folded the paper, placed it into the book. As she went out and crossed the sleepy streets in a winter afternoon, she looked at the book in her hand and wondered, if he would open it... before.. before it gets too late.
... coz Believing is Experiencing !