Tales

All this while I realize,

It wasn't Spring that I had wanted,

It was Autumn that I yearned for.

Beneath the lush green meadows of my heart, ready to bloom when the wind sways them, there were frozen chunks of snow, that had never molten into drops of nothingness. They survived, only to remind me that I had come far, yet whenever I looked back, all of it would seem like yesterday. And I would know that I missed things, places, people that I knew I did not want any more because I also knew that they had left, moved on.

Perhaps the window to those frozen chunks remained to remind me all that could have been, but all that shouldn't have been too. And from every step that I took forward, I moved into new meadows but this window moved with me, and I looked back, to take a glimpse of all of it again. Being helplessly foolish, perhaps greedy to travel back and forth into that hilltop that cried for me, or that person, that road which I had cried for.

They have grown up, they have transformed,and so have I. My journey had been evolving me into someone I had to be, my age had been moving forth, but that window kept adding frames of those forgotten tales I had once intended to live.

So one day I painted that window and kept it as a memoir of who I was, to celebrate who I had become. And from that day on it became a legend to be remembered in old tales, which did not matter any more.

I peeped into the chunks of snow,

And found them looking back at me,

But they are ghosts of memories,

To live tales of someone else now.