enigmática saudade
Ô Mort, vieux capitaine, il est temps!
- Jun 27, 2019
- 28
Life is full of regrets. Futile regrets.
In the middle of countless sleepless nights, I tortured my distorted brain with regrets. Tears in my eyes dissolved into the glistening snowflakes. Snowflakes in the desperate darkness melted in the glistening moonlight. Insurmountable pain was an unquiet stream that flowed abruptly through my veins. Inside the pain, a subtle hue of translucent white existed like the snow and the moon. This was the time when I reminisce about your beauty and melancholy.
I remember when I first met you. You stared at me with your beautiful dark eyes full of innocence. Unlike other people of your age, your eyes possessed the nature of the clearest purity.
I had never discovered this kind of purity before. I also remember the slight somber tone inside your seemingly innocent glance. The inexplicable melancholy was the rhythm that concealed deeply inside your heart. Your straight dark hair was like the lonely night when I was alone with my own solitude. The night could gradually transform into a sweet poem. A poem that was full of the saddest sweetness of an adolescent's precocious and immature ruminations.
In the dark night, I agonized over the fact that you would probably disappear forever in my life. My tears sang a speechless song about my own flaws, weakness, and absurdity. My tears dropped into the tranquil snow. My tears flew through the tender moon. The vague silhouette of my tears, the snowflakes, and the moonlight mingled with each other. The silhouette was the reflection of your little hands - your hands are as small as mine - playing on the piano in the absolute silence. The silhouette was your smile. The silhouette was the pain in my heart that dived into an abyss. An abyss of intangible darkness.
Days and nights. Days and nights are both times of endless torture for me. Yet, nights possess the enigmatic and inescapable power of beautiful melancholy.
In the middle of countless sleepless nights, I tortured my distorted brain with regrets. Tears in my eyes dissolved into the glistening snowflakes. Snowflakes in the desperate darkness melted in the glistening moonlight. Insurmountable pain was an unquiet stream that flowed abruptly through my veins. Inside the pain, a subtle hue of translucent white existed like the snow and the moon. This was the time when I reminisce about your beauty and melancholy.
I remember when I first met you. You stared at me with your beautiful dark eyes full of innocence. Unlike other people of your age, your eyes possessed the nature of the clearest purity.
I had never discovered this kind of purity before. I also remember the slight somber tone inside your seemingly innocent glance. The inexplicable melancholy was the rhythm that concealed deeply inside your heart. Your straight dark hair was like the lonely night when I was alone with my own solitude. The night could gradually transform into a sweet poem. A poem that was full of the saddest sweetness of an adolescent's precocious and immature ruminations.
In the dark night, I agonized over the fact that you would probably disappear forever in my life. My tears sang a speechless song about my own flaws, weakness, and absurdity. My tears dropped into the tranquil snow. My tears flew through the tender moon. The vague silhouette of my tears, the snowflakes, and the moonlight mingled with each other. The silhouette was the reflection of your little hands - your hands are as small as mine - playing on the piano in the absolute silence. The silhouette was your smile. The silhouette was the pain in my heart that dived into an abyss. An abyss of intangible darkness.
Days and nights. Days and nights are both times of endless torture for me. Yet, nights possess the enigmatic and inescapable power of beautiful melancholy.
