I do not need to swear for the coldness of autumn has striking leaf by leaf fallen out of the humble trees. It is about time to let go, whispered the tree. While the wind is always there. Being its person in a way of helping the trees to let go, at least slightly easier. Though inside, there is this private war going on in controversy. The trees are not in favour just yet to let it go away. But honestly, they are secretly aware, yet is never going to be over if there is nothing that pressing. Regardless the nature's demanding behaviour, trees are still standing tall although the impression of vulnerability vividly projected. For a while, again, the tree whispered. And when it's time, the snow will cover them in sweet mercy, then, by no time, leaves will start to grow green. Again.
It is a good thing that you are not a tree. Feel free to let go any time you want if you choose to live in the past instead of now. But you will be eventually.
It is a good thing if you are like the tree. At least, there is this wind pushing you in absolute certainty to let it go. Giving you no time or space to second guess.
Do you know that the innocence of simple mind can slowly fade away day by day, books by books and breath by breath? Happiness that ought to be so close, feels so far, distant and strange -- questioning whether or not it is an illusion. The remaining voice of modesty however singing for its longing of solid faith and at the same time locking my thoughts by the ground. Not still but actively moving. Wandering. I give time for everything. Everything. Hence, every sigh is full of awareness of both sides. This is bad, but I keep on going. In silence of pretentiously sham smile, I play. Hoping a breath of fresh air might swing by, and stay, any time soon. And when it's time, I'll be able to hit you in gratitude that you are present before my eyes.
Now, I live for the words. For the story. For the pseudo existence of you and me.
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