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When my heart is hit with some insufferable emptiness, I even feel like to forgo this miserable life. I go all-out with various probable measures to escape from this aching loneliness, but nothing beauty of today is superior to those days gone by. The beautiful memory of the past appears in my mind incessantly as if like I am following the sequence of some romantic stories, and makes my fragile heart unconscious.
At every crack of dawn, I open my notebook, and attempt to translate the songs of nature into words. But, with my laughable lexis, it seems like I am only lessening the sweetness of the songs. I strive to search out comparable words which can describe all the allure of the nature, but loveliness and sweetness of nature can never be descried perfectly in words. Not considering the quality of the piece that I am able to insert in my notebook, I am always pleased as long as I am able to get away from the hurting morning hours.
Every so often, I stopover the rich flower garden and enjoy the splendour of every colour. The buzzing of the bees keeps my sense engage as if like I am attending to some saccharine melodies of celebrated singing groups. The sweet aroma of each plant never fades away with the time, and inspires me evermore. Yet, the contentment in my mind is always filled with some anxiety. The beautiful times of what went before always interrupt the pleasure of my present.
Sometimes, when the tenderness of loneliness is relentless to accept, I choose to walk among the woods and listen to the rustling of leafs. But, leaning alone against the chest of the huge tree, sometimes I wonder if I am living or dreaming. With no songs from the bird, no moon in the sky, and no winds from the north, my world seems to be so silent as if like my wandering mind is in some seventh heaven.