love,

when you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hands,

i can see your face,

and know you as bliss.

the first time when i heard these verses, i was 17 years old, in full blossom as everyone assumed. not knowing much about love, i instinctively regarded love as something seemingly beautiful but hard to chew in essence.

i'm correct, to some extent. all the years i spent alone prove both disheartening and fruitless, disheartening because the ideal one never came down to the earth to cease my endless waiting; fruitless because i ended up in dating with a wrong person,leaving all the verses nonsense. to make matters worse, as they criticized me, i broke up with the guy in only 15 days, which conversely seemed to me a nice thing. thank god i am free again.

i wrote poems myself as a way to approach love and the unknown world. no tiny little dust in the air will escape my eyes,no voice of the blooming will slip away from my ears, and love is all pervading, all pervading except in my world.

i can't resist the temptations of enjoy my life alone in reading, mind wandering, walking on the fallen leaves deep in thought, listening to music by some unknown artists, and of course, writing. i can't help trembling at the thought of being deprived of the freedom by someone outside my world. i hate to find myself wearing the coat from some strange guys with the angel wings still in the gesture to fly. i want to fly, not with the borrowed wings, but mine.

he will arrive at last, with his wings above my sky.

in 8 days i will have my 20th birthday, smiling shiningly in my autumn, murmuring the verses i changed myself,

love,

when you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hands,

i can see your face

without touching your hands,

and know you as a dream.