Let’s talk about myself,
I still cannot accept the cold on my palms, and the air whizzing past the ear in a hurry, as if to mend all the flaws before the conclusion. The melancholy, has evaporated into something subtle, something that makes you sober in the unfavorable gales. The trees are rendering empty seeds of hopelessness and the city has hibernated into an ‘awkward’ silence that comes with the grief of a death.
As I walk through my uncomforting zones, which was and will be warm sometime I can see the withered beauty unfolding in front of me, amplifying the winter in a strange mysterious kind of miracle.
There are regrets as well as indecision at right moments, which have changed the course of this journey, yet I can always stop by the crossroads smiling to myself as these flaws have just enhanced the beauty of the present time. We can speculate, or anticipate, but just like the air that caressing the face will never do it twice, time will show no mercy as it is also under the fear of running out, especially where theories cease to exist and love has no bounds and thus, present is all we have.
Walking along I look back, only to find my vision clogged with the snippets of the stories I have lost this year, or to say the people who have steered it through. Yet there are if not millions, hundreds of novels, waiting for me to accept me in, some with an ending and mostly of torn pages and yet my intuition whispers, “You will survive buddy just walk through. ”
And so I did walk further following my intuition, blending myself with nature and surviving death. Melancholy follows me, through the crowd of grey, finding its way to the darkness.
PS: A Very Happy New Year to everyone in advance.
©Jumbled Letters 2018.