Different Seasons

Each letter of a word, like every stroke in a Chinese painting of mountains and rivers, depicts every nuance, every whim. Yet, all is fiction. How pretentious! Words and thoughts, I've never truly understood their relation.

Tenderness gapes my emotion recently. That almost sounds feminine, though I am not surprised. Now, I turn taciturn in search of words, as if to snatch them off the empty air, and make them turn this way and that. Yet, all is in vain. Silence speaks volume. So you wonder: where's the importance of words? How self-indulgent, my words!

I am feeling vulnerable, yet find no reprieve. Words fail in disguise of fears and doubts. Or have they?

Little by little, I edge closer to the end. Darkness will fall then; a chill has descended. In my consciousness, yellow leaves have fallen as in imminent winter, while days turn weary.

Let me begin from the beginning to shield me from the end. This is my story; for you, for me...

It's just this moment, this phase; it's just different seasons...

PS: There was this song by Johnny Hates Jazz in the 80s titled "Different Seasons". And it just leapt into my realm near the entry's end.