(north-eastern)

...and the north-eastern wind tells you a story,
some paragraphs about trust,
and about time that does not actually heal. 

you know it does not, and will never...

.

Sunday evening might not be my most favorite times of what they called as weekend. Not even a random breeze on a one fine day with maximum heat could change my mind. However, I don't deny the message it carried. A message from a faraway land. Or a faraway heart, I must say.

The message is something about being upset upon seeing one's giving up. I laughed while reading the rest of the message. I read it calmly, word by word. I even interpreted every dots, or extended dots, a period and a coma, as if the message was written in some sort of secret codes. I smiled when reaching the part that indicated a slight disappointment.

And finally a closing, "a changing heart is just as unpredictable as a changing season with this global warming issue, isn't it? or it's just my false perception?"

Me, seven years behind, would definitely went all emotional. Texting with no second thought, with no considerations. Even his heart.

"you know what, global warming is not an issue."

But it's me, now. The version of which I prefer to have a long time thinking before answering. Not even gave a damn though the time to answer was up. Well, he demanded an answer. No indication of time was ever given. So I took my own amount of time. Leisurely. Pressure free.

.

It was Thursday. After ninty-eight of hours. And twenty-one missed-calls, And sixteen unreplied text messages. And one blank text message.

I decided to make it handwritten.

"a changing heart is not to be predicted. it's just changing. that's all. 
even the changing season, no matter that's unrelated to this, is not to be predicted.
you learn to read the signs, and later you learn to read the patterns. that's how the life of our intertwined hearts goes.
have you ever thought of this : maybe it's not the heart that's changing. maybe it's how we read things differently, now and then. maybe, just maybe, our heart intertwined in a way both of them resisted.

maybe it is your false perception. on trust."

.

And I wait for the South-Western wind to fly along with the love letter. Because I don't believe in time that heals. It is coming home.