Getting cold it is! We are stepping on winter days indeed. This morning I wore my new long boots with leggings in it and the GO-CCE brand boots were very comfortable. I think the boots was good choice, and I like it.
Cold wind slapped on my skin, but the smell of early winter air touched my feeling. I like the smell of November with its frequent darkness, its dreary winds, and the rolling fallen leaves on the ground. I suddenly realise that November, my dearest month which often reminds me of Wuthering Heights and Heathcliff, is about to leave. Though it provokes some grievous pathology in me now and then, I dearly love the season of November. To my sorry, I could not be fully immersed in this pathetic season, however. My current life doesn’t let me deep inside it and I don’t know whether it’s good or bad.
Time is constantly passing as ever, adding years on me. It makes me sad that I’m no longer someone’s romantic object, though I always dream of it. Of course, I know it would be a fantasy (even a delusion?) or emotional cupidity to think romanticism at my age, but I cannot easily give of my dream (even if it’s just an illusion) to the years till I die. I would be still dreaming when I become a grandmother. Is it really absurd that I want to be myself as a certain romantic being? Is it impossible for P to look at me such a way? If I want it, am I greedy? Sometimes P and I are talking at cross-purposes, that is, I talk of chalk and P talks of cheese. It makes me sadder.
Brit…
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