The opera stage, the rain, and the yixing teapot

I cannot write all the time.
I cannot write about it.
I cannot write about it at any given time.
I cannot write about it unless the sensation is right. I have to get the permission. I can also try to recollect.
Do you remember that opera stage, my dear ?
I don’t know how far the roots of our love really go. But I know where something began. It was bright, miraculous and awesome.
That was when you saw me.
You had seen me before, as I had seen you, but let me remind you. You do remember, but it makes me feel good to tell you, so that you know that I have really felt it too.
Still, I suppose I have to tell the story in the right order. Before the opera stage was the yixing teapot. Before the yixing teapot, or maybe after, you zipped up my backpack and smiled at me. And even before that, you drove me from Pudong airport to Shanghai in the rain. That is when I saw you, but was it the first time ? Sincerely, as I already wrote, I do not know.