Winter winds

I still catch myself feeling sad about things that don’t matter anymore. 

- Kurt Vonnegut

His words reminded her of those in the wind, whispered to her on cold winter nights, calming but too late to do any good. Promises that were whispered could be as deceiving as the reflection of the full moon. She remembered clearly the moon on the lake beside her grandmother's cottage. She wasted her whole summer holiday trying to get hold of it. 

Cold, Crushing Pain

Maybe it has ended a long time ago and it’s just one of those endings that take longer than usual to reveal themselves. Maybe you knew, but you refuse to accept that it has ended. Or maybe it never really began. Either way, the door to that dream has closed.

I open the window and let the cold winter wind blow in. Like bird out of its cage, pieces of my broken heart fly into the starless sky. What remains is sorrow, pouring out to every corner of the room. Standing here alone, i let it rain over me. Because only in this cold darkness, i can bravely face the painful truth and see clearly the dark shadows of my unspeakable dream.

Shivering Hope

Grandmother looked at an old photograph of her dear friend, Annabelle. She put it down and said “Annabelle was a sad girl. People in town called her the girl who fell in love with a shooting star. We all knew once a shooting star had passed us by, that was it. It would never return. She was in love with something that would never be hers and was never really hers to begin with. She was a foolish woman, that Annabelle.” Grandmother smiled a sad smile and looked out the windows. The snow had melted and spring was knocking on the door. What that was had gone and things will never be the same again.

I looked at grandmother’s eyes and I saw traces of sorrow. It was true that no matter how hard one tried to hide and wipe away pain, it would creep up on you and drop by for a quiet visit once in a while. Even grandmother, with so many practices over the years, couldn't hide the pain that still lingered in her eyes when she thought nobody was looking. I wondered if she was really talking about Annabelle or the story she had just told me was actually hers.

“I think she was luckier than the girl who fell in love with the moon,” I said.
“The moon? Luckier?” grandmother asks.

“Oh yes, she was. At least Annabelle knew that the shooting star she loved so deeply was not returning to her embrace. At least she had the chance to move on. But the girl who was in love with the moon was always hoping and waiting. Every night, when the moon appeared and casted its soft amber light on her bedroom windows, she couldn't help herself but to think that she could finally reach the moon, her one true love. Of course, she couldn't and the moon would always disappears into the horizon when daybreak came. Soon enough, disappointment became her closest friend - along with heartache and despair. They stayed friends for life."

Grandmother said nothing and continued to stare at the clear blue sky, as if a shooting star might suddenly pass us by, although it was only noon. Looking at my grandmother, I suddenly realised that I was not alone. Maybe the girl who was in love with the moon lived in every woman who's heart was taken. No matter what people said, no matter what fate and logic told us, a part of us would always be waiting and hoping – hoping with a fragile hope.

Fractured moonlight on the sea

He just smiled and walked by her – like she was just another stranger who meant nothing more than the wildflowers he walked passed that morning. She stopped breathing for a few seconds and just like that, she could see her dreams and hopes shattered around her. Like drops of bitter rain falling down from the dark sky. At that moment, she felt like she had lost something that she never found.

But that wasn't exactly true. She thought she had found it. She thought she had the key to the lock. Just that the timing was never right to unlock it. Finally, on that gloomy Saturday afternoon, she knew she had been living a lie – a lie that she had told herself. She didn't have the key. In fact, there wasn't even a lock to begin with.

At a time

She sat alone in her room where the only thing that was shining was the full moon and wondered if it’s possible for a man to be in love with two different women at the very same time.

Shades of love

As far as love is concerned,
Eternity is a second
Forever is a glance

Time is nothing