It's back. I'm back.
I can start to feel the gentleness of the autumn wind swifting through my skin. Who says love, comfort and closure have to come from another human being?
The leaves are dying, falling from really tall and big trees. It almost looks like snow, only with bigger and rusty flakes. I've always thought that fall is the most beautiful season of all--the aroma of decomposing leaves, the chill of the september wind, the blueness of the cloudy sky, and the spontaneity of the occasional afternoon rain. Everything about fall is so gentle, and dreamy.
But there is also something deeply sad about it, in the way everything dies. I take it as a sign of hope. Fall, for me, is the time when reality and dreams fuse together. It's sort of a period in a year during which life becomes so close to how it should be. The dying and decomposing reflects the lies and selfishness of the world. The world is almost exactly as it should be--fickle and fucked up.
Autumn affirms the truth that there is always an end, always a "goodbye" following a "hello," that what comes next will be a cold and harsh winter, yet at the same time it ignites a spark of hope in its beauty--the realization that hopelessness is and just a part of life and that comfort can be found in brokenness.
Perhaps what i love the most about autumn is its temperature. Unlike winter--when life becomes so cold that everything becomes numbed--fall is just cold enough to take me into a slightly different, more dreamy world, my world. I suddenly become alive, more than ever. It is kind of like waking up from, not a nightmare, but rather an unpleasant dream. Something inside me heals itself.
Because I couldn't get out of my dreams, reality becomes my dreams.
And dreams don't always have to be fairy tales.
