The Sequence of January

A breeze brushes past the ends of my hair,the January sun,is warm.Travelers passing in twos and threes,the January leaves,are still green.The temperature after Minor Cold,is just right.The pulse after losing control,is steady.

The dancing tongues of flame,bring no scorching heat either,the boiling blood,has slowly run dry.The blurred smoke,is feeling the feeling.

A chapter closes.

The first thing is touch,the second thing is farewell,the third thing is silence.

The secret lies under the river,burning, breathing,and scrambling again…the sequence…and trapping again…the thirst…and playing out again…the rupture…

I am the mother of light,and also the child of darkness,I am the overlooking of the line between life and death,and also the color difference between the parallel lines of love and hate,I am the fragment of a planet breaking apart,and also the burden of the mayfly in the dust of the universe.I am delirious joy,and also weightless oppression,and the storm that follows from it,will wipe away everything, everything, everything.

Lie down,play the music at the loudest volume;shut myself away,remember the happiness of long-ago things.

The weather is gradually improving,the car window is clear and bright as ever.And so, recovery,as usual, in good order.