Autumn Rain.
There is some kind of feeling, always by accident, rising up from the bottom of the heart in quietness, which makes me think of someone or something that is difficult to dismiss from my mind time after time.
Parting in the early autumn of that year has deeply rooted in my heart. Every day, looking attentively at remaining shine of sunset, listening absorbedly to the sound of limitless silence, accustomed I am to thinking of you unconsciously.
The first piece of falling leave falls from the yellow twig. The cool rain in autumn silently drenches my curtain, that kind of thinking mixed with sort of bitterness emerged from the heart. Listen to raining, listen to the soft sound that rains strick at the leaf, strick at the back tile, strick at the windowsill. It seems that you are still with me, beside me talking, laughing, touching my hair now and then.
Thinking stirs in quietness, and quietness stirs in thinking. Invariably life process is between the undulation. For many times I asked myself what on earth had happened let you leave me for good? You had ever complained that I was too complicated to understand, but had you really tried to understand me? You had ever emphasized that love was selfish and exclusive, but had you confirmedly held me in your embrace? Oh, it's you who ruin my life; it's you who let me become a living dead. After you left, never would I believe in love again.
Now, it's another autumn, a repetition from the last. Still alone I am with the drizzling rain flying in the sky. Sadness has gone in the wind for I've chosen to be strong, independent and indifferent. These years without you, the old one's leaving was always followed by the new one's coming, they surely had ever come, and, then left , yet my life is no change after all. I know all of them are just my life passengers because I do not believe in anyone else since you left. I only rely on myself. Never would I be hurt again because my heart has been buried in that early autumn.
Looking at the cold autumn rain, and listening to the familiar and sentimental note of dripping raindrops, all the yearning and missing have become ashes, nothing, nothing left but an empty soul floating far and near in quietness of no bound.
Written by CalmSky, Sep 29, 2008
|
|
