The other night I sat alone by the window, my arms wrapping around my shins, my chin resting sluggishly on my knees. Greenvines sprawled over the rails out the window. A breeze sprang up and tree leaves started to rustle. It was crisp and quiet all about, except for insects chirping, which was like a Buddhist music, near and far, loud and vague. I listened a while and felt sad no more, ecstatic no more. There was left in me but solitude, which was piling at the bottom of my heart.
Over one hour I remained seated at the window like a stone from the ice age, my mind blank. I contemplated the two years that had just drifted by. What did I do? No clue.There were too many chores lingering in my mind, and not asingle complete one could I recollect. "What on earth does it take for happiness and contentment?"I kept asking myself. But a foolish woman would hardly getclose to the yearning from deep inside, even though she never stops trying hard throughout her life. I thought and thought, until fatigue got the better of me.No oppression should be kept, except solitude.
Such a beautiful dawn did not see me in sweet dreams. I trapped myself in the deep, desolate pool of solitude.
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