Monday, November 3, 2008
It was not until the moment she poured water into that pot of evergreen on the lattice of window, she realized that she was leaving. The whisper was roaring, but she couldn’t hear it until then, so loud and clear like ailing heartbeats. She whispered, talked and yelled to one of dying seedlings. That would be the last time, and you take care yourself. The seedling didn’t knock, but it knew its fate, the death was near and it smelled the rotten roots of its own constantly. She poured some more, and whispered more, hardly tenderly neither shrilly. There was no real goodbye and no tear involved. She needed nothing of this room and intended bringing nothing with her. Nothing was really left behind since nothing here ever belonged to her. Only one last kindness she thought. That’s why she was pouring water to that evergreen on the lattice of window, and the moment she was doing it she realized she was leaving. The subconscious of these all was the leaving itself. Since the very moment she was here, in this room, while goodbye was still unspeakable. She was leaving, and she realized it now. The night was still young, and no music in the air. The seedling was dying solitarily and soundlessly, like part of her, in this dark night without stars. She thought one last kindness maybe and she poured some water into that evergreen, on the lattice, that’s where she looked out the window and saw no stars. The darkness consumed her and she trembled. There was such a night there were no stars, and a seedling was dying in an empty room. She whispered and talked to herself, so loud and clear like ailing beats of heart. She was leaving in the dark night like this, when the world was perishing slowly and endlessly, and the stars shined no more. One last kindness and she would flee.