Were Nature sentient, she too would pass from youth to age.
Ten years, dead and living dim and draw apart.
I don’t try to remember,
But forgetting is hard.
Lonely grave a thousand miles off,
Cold thoughts, where can I talk them out?
Even if we met, you wouldn’t know me,
Dust on my face,
Hair like frost.
In a dream last night suddenly I was home.
By the window of the little room.
You were combing your hair and making up.
You turned and looked, not speaking,
Only lines of tears coursing down.
Year after year will it break my heart?
The moonlit grave,
The stubby pines.
–Burton Watson
This is a man who is in his 90’s writing love notes to his wife who has passed away 10 years ago. He illustrated in 18 sketchbooks, scripting how they met, fell in love, went through a turbulent life as a result of civil war and culture revolution, and finally were drew apart by nature cause. This is such a love story that happened among us.
In the world of materialism, I have almost forgotten love could be just so simple and spontaneous.
minnay.blog 