My Dearest Autumn

Can you see? No one’s feeding wood to the fire. Give it a few more hours and all you can see are glowing embers. Not bad though, those weak flames are casting enough shadows to make this whole place look eerie. Kinda gives it a nice feel, don’t you think?

At this time of the night, I’m always in pain. My heart seems to be crying out as if some part was missing.

Mutilated in fact.

They call it “phantom pain”. Phantom pain occurs when you feel the pain coming from a missing limb, as if that limb was still there. I sure feel the pain from that missing part, as if it was still there.

At this time of the night, I can’t help but be bitter about everything. Or some things. Things which are beyond my control, though within my scope of understanding. Wouldn’t it be nice to have things under control? One might as well go on to say wouldn’t it be nice to this, wouldn’t it be nice to have that? One can’t always have what one asks for, that I know. But who, tell me who, could attain this level of enlightenment?

I can only sit here in my couch, beside the dying fire and dancing shadows, and, sip and swish my glass of bourbon coke. And wait for the return to ashes.

Here I come, Autumn. Wait for me.


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