I am a falling teardrop in the season of the ripe apples.
The ripe red apples roll on the yellow grass. Red leaves fall like a rain from the sky. Orange chrysanthemums stares upward, expecting an autumn miracle. The sky absorbs the fiery red and reflects it down into the water in the form of flames that swallow the sadness. The melancholy feels in the air and conquers our hearts.
You are a falling leaf. I am a falling raindrop. The wind introduced us to each
other and made us a pair.
You fell from the falling crimson leaves as a cry for help. A help, which I needed. A help you needed. Delayed help. I met you when God had forgotten me, leaving me alone and without directions. When I met you, you also were lost your directions. But rain dyed by the autumn leaves and the warm golden magic of the autumn melancholy gathered our directions in one. The red apples rolled on the grass like a temptation and late sin.
And we stood facing each other in the middle of the forest, sinking in gold and flames, and we did not dare to approach one another.
We met before the winter to cover with a snow all the paths to the human hearts. Scared of how quickly the summer goes, we tried to keep it with the help of the falling golden rain.
I was not your spring. You were not my first love. Spring was the season of our quick and easy loves. It is easy to love in the spring. Spring love is light, airy, charming, colorful and easy. Easily comes, easy to experience - no dramas and deep wounds. And nature is fond of spring love.
Autumn love - as if everything is against them. It is as if all in you and around you is unprepared for them. They come in surprise and you burn for a short time with all the colours of the autumn. The autumn loves dissolves in the colours of the autumn and leave with the last autumn leaves. And you are circling like an orphan in the air, thrown out of the wind after them, because autumn love leaves a trace, after which come the cold winter and the end of everything.
And the red flames around us begin to fill the emptiness in us and warm our hearts. The emptiness that I hoped you would fill. Your emptiness that you thought I could fill. After the initial instinct to escape, you were enchanted by the autumn gold and warmth. The warmth of the red ripe apples gradually filled your body and you gave yourself to the temptation. The illusion of the moment that through the other you can connect to yourself and to God. A brief moment, given to us from eternity, in which we recall the beginning of the love. But autumn advances in time and takes away the opportunity to see the development of our autumn love. That is why I will never be your winter. You will never be in my snowy tale. Our time is here and now, this short stolen time hidden in the golden forest.
At the end of the golden forest our paths are separated. Because the forest is only a stage, a road to our tomorrow. Everything that has a beginning has an end. A glass of red wine invites us to try from Him and accept the inevitable that comes. The vineyard with the ripe grapes reminds us of the pleasures and the sin of the body. Somewhere over there, where the intoxicated spirit is in your arms. You who are already drunk with the bloody wine. And you leave yourself to the inevitable. Because the muddy puddles reflect the end of the crimson and golden leaves. And the rain mixes the wine and the water as a proof of the divine miracles He created. As a proof that after the intoxication, the soberness comes. After the autumn, the snowy winter comes. The pain, born in the golden autumn, will continue to live through the long cold winter days and nights to remind us of the brief happiness, when I met you in the golden forest as a falling leaf. And you met me like a crimson raindrop.
To fall in love at the end of the autumn, just before the harsh winter. It is like falling in love with your hangman. The time is counted. The prayer is read. The time is running too fast. The executioner has prepared the guillotine. On the stage are left rolling cut in half red apples as a late invitation to temptation and sin.
I am a falling teardrop in the season of the ripe apples.
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