In you I find my Autumn
Winters remind me of the time I used to sit on the bench in the park. The cold wind was bothersome enough to make anyone uneasy, but I remember covering myself nicely and comfortably in my leather jacket; a scarf around my neck and a beanie over my head. My feet would still feel cold. The park was a beautiful place. The trees were over shadowing and naked. Their leaves would dance around with the wind. Mostly lying on the ground like a large blanket with beautiful shades of orange, red and yellow. I would sit on the wooden bench and take out my little notebook. I would write down my thoughts, ponder over them; write down more thoughts. Look around at the people walking by and the trees swaying. Sometimes I would feel a shiver down my spine.
At night I would read the words written in my small notebook in the light of my bed-side lamp. The words were sometimes saddening; sometimes they were reassuring. They would leave a lasting impression on my mind; like they were coming from someone else. Sometimes I would wonder if I had really written them myself. They painted a picture of my insides; the part of myself that I could never see with my own eyes. They were a portal into my soul. After reading a few pages, I would shut my little notebook and place it back into the drawer, neatly placed along with the other little notebooks.
