The Song of Sadness

'Sometimes, I spend time alone and be empty again. My heart swells with a heaviness I could not recognize but is familiar with. The song that the wind brings at least calms me a little at a time. The strange nostalgia hits my eyes as I see the scenery of flowers and grass. But I know that scenery would also be a bad memory. Something that would remind one of a tragedy. Something that is there like a childhood movie, and you already know what will happen.' ' I am what people like me to be. Their desires as a single human being. Something that is made just for them to meet. And their eyes would swell with fondness in such presence as mine, warm and soft and comforting. And their faces would break into a smile, a guffaw, or a grin, something that will make them amused and entertained. It will make them want to talk, to cry, to sob into such arms, and complain about everything in this world, yet humans are all they complain about. ' " 'Myself' doesn't exist any longer. And with every smile is a part of an act, a part of a character's mind. It is crafted in silence, practiced in a mirror, talked by the darkness. And it will utter gifts, words, that one might appreciate, and one might like. Its words and utterings are laced with filters and little to no sincerity. " It is a flower that faked the blossom in its petals, that the life it brings is no more than a facade that smells bad but looks good. 'I don't know who I am, what I am, and what I am not.' The wind uttered for this girl. 'The mere thought overwhelms my mind.' And she secretly would write about her friends how her heart would soften in their presence and how her plans would be destroyed the moment they would talk about similar experiences. 'And yet I am different with her.' She wrote, as to refer to a friend closest to her withered heart of hollowness and feigned. 'And it isn't planned at all. ' She wrote again, the pen sticking through her hands, her grip not weakening, and her smile nonexistent. 'She's the best at ruining my act, and I'm not even angry, ' She pauses. Her left hand stops its way as she lifts her face to look at the skies. 'I'm at peace~' She completed the sentence. 'Such a futile friendship this is... and yet I couldn't help but be filled. ' She admitted in the last few lines of the page before turning to another. 'I have experienced this many times before, and according to those...' She gripped the pen more. 'This friendship will come to an end,' 'Too...' How sorrowful is that? Indeed, it is very tragic. That feeling is full of grief. And yet she believes it wouldn't hurt that much by now. Once, they talked about something, here in this exact place. Where the students would go to rest while it's their lunch break. The grassland near the school, and the small hill like land filled with tulips, yellow ones. 'What are you doing here. ' Julie caught her. "Nothing." She says with such coolness and confidence. The usual playful grin on her face. "Ohhhh?~ you sure you're not fantasizing again?" Julie teased with a grin, almost knowingly as she sat beside her. She quietly grumbled, not able to deny the remark. And then a silence passes the two... "Where would you study college?" "They say I'll study in the cities. " Julie replied, a hint of sadness in her voice. But she had already expected such. Does it hurt her? Well, maybe a little. "You? Where would you study, hm?" "Still here... " "Is that so... I always have wished we could be schoolmates still at least... we're taking different courses after all.." "That's... actually a good wish.." Julie sighs, quite disappointed at the news that they wouldn't even be schoolmates anymore. And become too far. "I guess sometimes that's just how it is..." Sometimes... "Yeah... " But in her mind is a denial that she was disappointed and sad. 'But I'm used to it..' it says. "What a waste~" She says then laughs, hiding the thoughts that her mind. 'I know... that a fake like me wouldn't even have the right to have friends.. that's right... it always is...' And so this girl continues to write alone in the same spot were the heaviness of her heart returned to her again. The unbearable feeling of sadness crept through with it, and the scenery of nostalgic tragedy had yet to unfold through her mind. She knew that it would happen, it always does. And yet stupid emotions tries to overcome such control as hers. Her hair fell through the pages as she writes. Her writing became hurried and harsh. And her hand shook with every letter of a word. 'It didn't matter for the most part of it. It didn't, I swear it didn't. ' The yellow tulips began to dance with the breezes again. It is summer, and such as the wind will be warm and dry. the sun rays are patches of brightened dust and light hitting the ground and to her face. She isn't in her uniform, of course. It is summer break after all... It seems to be 9 in the morning. And with this girl going on with her own, seemingly trying to off with her woes, with everything so happy around her, it had seem to me that she is a blue flower within this field of yellow tulips. And yet I can not deny that every flower is beautiful, even the sadder ones, and even the poisonous. Such as this girl that continues to write, the contents of what she write will probably, again, contain the opposite ambiance of her surroundings. And the notes will be all about degrading sense of self. It had struck me that her writing could almost be described as a Victorian era kind of writing. And with that, I know her preferences in books. It intrigued me how her writing affects its readers, and her penmanship reflects the emotions that she, in her heart, has. With the words much, very touching, 'Humans adapt, and for I, it is one of our bigger imperfections. Because of this adaptability, our minds would change what our environment describes as not good. But ,do care to think, what if our environment is wrong? It is to us, and our beliefs become twisted.' Such a line could be read in these notes, much so to keep an eye on one's morals. To test one's beliefs, twist them into something not very emotional, nor very stoic. I have read one such page in the notes of this girl, and with every letter is a lazily, almost loosely written letter as if the life of the writer is disconnected with their hands. 'My brother ( younger ) is very sentimental. I have proved so in the matter of our lives. Our mother, whom I don't like to have as a topic at all, has been mentioned countless times by this brother of mine. And he seems to miss this woman a lot. it is very common, or rather, it is just the right thing to be. It is a sign that he is a normal human being, as to my perspective. This brother of mine misses the woman who gave birth to him. Why would I question that? Well, simply, because this mother of ours doesn't even care of us anymore. She doesn't live with us nor sustain for our lives. ' She wrote, as though she has a hidden grudge with 'This woman' who is her mother as she says. the writing is strange. Yes, it is an utter contrast to the place she writes in. Yet I found her beautiful, along with her soul that she marks through every page of the notes.