To me, autumn is the most realistic idea of life. Not harsh, not perfect, nor always beginning. No, autumn is merely existence.
I think the air tastes neither joyful or sad, it’s just there. It makes us realize that everything we feel is solely inside of us. The air we breathe, that keeps us alive, is not there to have us live. That is up to our lungs to have the human will to beat on. The air is not the drum to the silent song of human existence in your heart. You don’t breathe in the color of the world, nor do you see the emotion around you. The air touching, no, kissing, our lips feels no love.
The rain does not grow the wilted flowers in your heart. There is nothing better than the softest rain in the cold air of fall so I never understood the melancholy of rainy days. The rain is not sadness made real by your eyes. Those autumnal days are when I truly felt joy. For the rain may not wash away my demons, yet I knew it never would.
The trees do not feel the anger within your bones. Their leaves do not change colors at your will. The wind pushing through the woods will not speak to your troubles. Their trunks do not gauge your fury. Your madness cannot set fire to the forests. Flames do not exist at the will of your wrath.
The earth is not yours to call home. The mountains do not care for your conquests; the mountains do not care for your company. Your rage does not give pain to the continents. You cannot stop the world from bleeding when there is no blood.
The ponds and lakes are not the home for your tears. Their depths are not the night when you tried to forget her name. The streams are not for your tongue. The rivers are not choking you while you stifle your sadness. The fogs above them are not your mind. The hurricanes are not your soul. The lightning and thunder are not the war with between your dreams and nightmares.
The issue, the fact, is that we are enraged because the world does not feel our pain; the world does not care about us; the world couldn’t care less. That’s the peculiar thing about being in love. Against the world, and maybe themselves, they love you and so, love raged on.
