Who says that I can not live without you,

can’t bear this pain of separation?

I cried a lot when you’re gone

and passed sleepless nights,

but mind you, if you come back,

you will find me changed

and you will be disappointed. 

You know why?

Listen to me carefully,

I have broken the old tradition of ‘lovers’,

I have given up “love”

I am seeing you since long that you keep quiet, do not talk much. Maybe you have some deep sorrow of which you have been so quiet. I see you feel yourself alone even while you are with me, humming a sad song. During talking when your sight strikes with mine, you just lost somewhere as I am not there. Remember, it was raining, and you were as usual quiet, I asked, and you replied that you are in gloom for no reason just there is a burden on your heart. But it is not the fact, why don't you just say that you love me.

A guest in this sadness for some days more.

Bother me fate for some days more.

You will remember me when I die O night of sorrow

Be contented in teasing me for some days more

There is no surprise and sorrow after death

Be sorrowful for some days more.

Do not have any complaints with friends and foe

Did have in fate the gloom of life for some days more.

The autumn will go and there will be once again spring

Here I am in this deserted garden for some days more.

Sadness, you will not find a friend of yours like me,

Keep frustrating me for some days more.

I have tried to write a story based on Exclamative Sentence (exclamation) provided on EC. (You can find the link on your right down below).  Let's see how I am successful to entertain you.

How messed up you have made with your life! I warned you it is a fire, it would burn you.  Love………. true love does not exist, and if exist it is hard to find. But you didn’t give a heed go my advice. Now, look what a mess you have made! What an idiot I have been wasting energy to advise you. She has gone, left you lingering between reality and imagination. It would have better if you have understood.  How strange it was, you didn’t believe me, me your close friend, on the contrary, you believed her, when I knew since the beginning she was just playing with you, with your emotions, just enjoying.  You have been a toy for her. You remember when you said, “Wow! What a cool girl she is!” and I told you, that she was not your type, you are so simple, so easy going, her coolness will burn you one day when the game is over. O, how I wish you would have believed me!  Hey! That is not a brilliant idea just to lie here cutting yourself from life. What a handsome man you were! And now what a mess you’ve made your life.  How quickly you understand this, I can only wish. “O man! Love is not easy, I have always been saying love is a sphere of fire, it incinerates the victim, and there has been no bike which can give you ride through this fire, except wisdom, and it is wise to guard the heart with wisdom.

HOW TO FALL IN LOVE 

In the ocean of love 
In the temple of heart 
Ever dive or get into to know 
How to fall in love 

Ever two hearts are  united 
With just similarity of thoughts 
It is heard….people say 
Just taking one name 
The heart beat gets high. 

Ever get into the Ocean of fire 
Then you will know 
How to fall in love. 

He was simmering inside.  It was very strong and might turn him into ashes.  But the ‘love’ and above all the ‘lost love’ makes a lover loves even the ashes gifted by beloved who had left not to return.  Any such beloved does not like that this fire which is burning his heart to ashes would be put out. For him life is nothing without this fire.  If it is put in cold storage the life would itself become cold, lifeless, a burden which can not be put away.  That is way he wants to keep this simmering inside, to feel life, even without her, who has left.  With the memories of his beloved he wants to feel himself alive.  This is as someone is in cold hell, and he sees far away a fire burning, even from that distance it gives him warm feeling. This ‘burn’ the ‘simmering in love………….which has now distanced, the pain of being left behind sometimes makes lover stand distinguished.  May it be possible that one does not have any thing in life which make him feel the beat of his heart, but on the contrary, ‘love’ rather the lost one, is a steering lever, give a friction to make him feel the ‘beat’ the ‘life’ the ‘heat’ the ‘simmering’ the ‘burning which may become the reason of life, the reason to ‘feel love’ though ‘unfulfilled’. But anyway a reason.  A man sometimes passes his entire life having dampness in his heart, needing something to ignite the fire.  The beloved who has left may work as ignition to light the fire in him.  How long you are with such fire you are alive, otherwise you are dead.  So let it burn forever.

This is on an inspiration:

With my eyes full of hope and my heart full of love

I’m waiting for you.

Till my last breath and crack of my voice

I’m waiting for you.

I give the beat of my heart to wind and voice to the breeze

To take my message to you.

O waiting crow of my death, eat all my flash but eyes

Where there is hope and the waiting of my love

As they are looking for my beloved

Till the end of my breath.

SEE THE USE PREPOSITIONAL ADVERB IN HERE:

1. across

2. along

3. around

4. into

5. onto

6. over

7. through

8. under

9. out of

10. up

11. down

12. past

1) A car is going across the bridge.
2) I am walking along the road with my dog. 
3) We walked around the town.
4) I jumped into the water. 
5) The boat drifted onto the shore. 
6) The plane flew over the mountains. 
7) A bird flew into the room through a window.
8) The car costs under ten thousand. 
9) I took the old batteries out of the radio.
10) We walked up the hill to the house.
11) Be careful! Don't fall down the stairs.
12) They walked past me without speaking.

I was not expecting to come across her so abruptly.  I was looking at her too-perfect face; trying to see into her fathomless eyes. It seemed that nobody was around, just two of us.  She turned her face quietly, moved onto the pavement and walked gracefully through the gate of the house.   I rushed to go along with her.   She looked over at me, there was a slight movement in her lips,  she said something undertone, which I could not made up. I stopped, seeing her going down to the porch, walked past the flowers and gone out of my sight into the house.

Above is my picture for "Wordless Wednesday", though today is Friday, (I was declared the winner of last contest posted by Rosemary),  I shot this picture yesterday evening especially for this contest.  Try to give it a caption.  do not think much, what comes in your mind very first will be the real one. The captions will be collected by next Thursday.

 by Estanis 

I wrote this blog sometime in 2014.

Last night it was raining.  The sky was getting illuminated intermittent lightening. Power was fluctuating, and finally, it was gone and I got dc (disconnected) from my friend on the net. I left the table with an inner gloom and went to the balcony. It was raining heavily with thunder. I let the downpour come upon my body just to try to wash off all the fatigue of the day. There was darkness outside, just the rays of a few emergency lights peeping through the windows of other flats. I concentrated on the darkness. When the flash of lightning broke the darkness, just for a second, it seemed that green and purple pearls were falling from the sky.  I stayed there as long as the rain continued then came inside with an aesthetic sense inside me.  

I like thunder since my childhood. I always watch with keen interest the pattern made in the lightning. Let me take you into my dream world.

There was a spiral staircase at the back of our old house. It was a flat on the third floor.  In the rainy season it was my hobby to go there and watch the lightning and listen to the thunder. I used to stand on the small rostrum type platform of the spiral staircase. Our flat was on the top so this was the end of the staircase. I would just stand there in the dark, while the rain was falling, and I fixed my eyes on the sky just to behold the pattern of lightning with every flashing. It was so enchanted.   During the entire scenario, a moment always came, when all the surrounding vanished. There remained nothing, just me, standing on the platform, and the sky. I felt with each flash of lightning that I was flying towards the heaven.

You just get a sketch of what I have described. Erase the building all around just leave the platform of the spiral staircase and you are standing on it staring at the sky. There is nothing around, but you.  What you see with the flash of lightning – different patterns – again and again, and again.  This is NATURE pouring down on you!  BEAUTIFUL!

I wish when I die my soul will be taken in the same way as I used to imagine, let me see the passage through which we pass. I imagine it will be the same as what I used to see standing alone on the platform of the spiral staircase.

CONFESSION 

There may be thousands of lovers, but rarely there is one who is set on the level of a beloved.  How nice it is to make you feel complete that there is someone in a corner of this earth who thinks about you, cares about you in his solitude.  Your memory spreads a sweet smile on his face.  I remember the day, I was a child, your dad brought me home after my parents died, I was alone, he adopted me as his son.  When I entered the house, I saw your face, smiling at me, looking at me in the way that made me forget my suffering.  I also remember the first night when I could not sleep.  I was sitting on a couch in the living room.  You came downstairs, sat beside me and drag me to lie down on your lap. You caressed my hair, kept quiet, didn’t say a word, but tried to soothe me, to make me sleep on your lap.  And I fell asleep.  That was the very first day I realized what a love is.  

Since then we had been together, we grew up together.  Our dad was so happy seeing us together on all occasions.  Then you got a job, and you fell in love with one of your colleagues.  You told me about that.  I was not happy, but seeing you happy I made myself agreed with your happiness.  I thought, rather I believed that you also loved me the way I do, though we never confessed it to each other.  But then I realized that you did not see me or think about me the way I had the feeling about you.  You told us, me and dad that you wanted to marry that guy.  Dad got shocked, he saw towards me, I gave him a slight nod, and he agreed, but I knew very reluctantly.  He later asked me, “Why?”, I said to him that should we both not be happy to see you happy, with whom you wanted to live happily.  Then you went away, far away to another place.    

When you were going, my heart was pounding so  that might there be no beating when you were gone.  It is very stubborn, still beating, I hear it in my ears.  When I place my hand on my chest I hear it as if it is your heart because we can feel our own heart, but others’ we hear.  I know it without knowing how I know, know it down to my soul where my connection had been connected to my blood.  I know that you have always been a part of me, as your breathing was my breathing, and your dreams were my dreams, and your blood was my blood.  I knew when your heart stopped mine would too, and I would be glad because I wouldn’t want even for one second the heart which does not have your beating.  Yes, where you go I will go, when you go I will go.  Yes, this is my confession.

I read Onee’s comment she posted on her own recent blog addressing to me, she commented: ““C'mon.... You just need to make a news report. How about a news report with the theme of 'LOVE', this is my personal challenge to you. I know you're expert in this matter.”

Since then I was thinking what to do, I tried to recall my imagination, tried to knit a scenario based on love.  There were number of thoughts, number of faces before me coming out of my subconscious to conscious, asking, “write about me!  Please do not ignore me!! Write my story.”  I got perplexed, unable to decide what I would write. 

Then I picked up a weekly magazine, just to relax my mind.  My eyes stopped on the page of social section of the magazine.  There was a news report about a young boy who had been missing.  The police was looking for him on the request of his girlfriend who reported about the incident she encountered with the boy, she said that she didn’t mean to hurt him, she was just in a bad mood, frustrated, and in frustration she said to him that she didn’t want to see him anymore. Since then the boy is missing.  He left a letter for the girl, which so read:

“Listen, I believe in your love, I know you love me, but I do not have any trust in the attack of changing time.  So, if it happens to you that you would hate me, and the delicate petals of my heart become thorns to you, then do not remember the time we passed together, because the poison of memories does not allow the wounds to heal.  Never hate those chats we did sit together for hours, because the chats are the innocent link between two hearts, if I am or my love is not of any worth to you, these chats are not responsible for this, they were innocent talks, you just hate me, not the circumstances we went through”.

Reading this story or a social news report, I was thinking how much love makes its victim sensitive, every aspect is felt in its extreme, the hope, the happiness and the dejection. The boy is now gone and she is left in her remorse.  I imagined someone had gone away after passing the nights of sorrow and dejection.

In love nothing is yours.  Everything turns to your beloved, may be the lover of this modern age do not understand, but it is a fact.  If you want to be successful in love just think, just see, the love of your beloved, now you have nothing of yours, everything is of your beloved. The moment you start to see anything other than your beloved there rises the snakes of misunderstanding, buds out the plant of dejection, and the picture of your beloved gets blurred. May be you consider me extreme in thought, but how could those understand the complication of love who take it easy.  This is not easy.  As I have explained somewhere. LOVE IS NOT AN EASY GAME.  IT IS A RIVER OF FIRE, AND YOU HAVE TO SWIM THROUGH THIS.  

This is in response to Onee's Writing Challenge "A News Report"

WEATHER FORECAST

Here is the forecast for next 24 hours. 

This is not good news for those who are planning ‘dating’.  The weather will be pretty stormy, so the indoor dating will be too crowded for those who have some secret planning for their partners.  Outside in daytime, the weather will be pretty hot, may affect the temperature of the caring parent for their daughters, so I have to warn all the boys to be careful with their girlfriends. 

I wish to give you some good news about the good weather, but it doesn’t seem so.  The stormy forecast for the evenings may tense the girls and they may have a row with moms, who would try to stop them going out in the evening especially for late night stroll under the trees, because the trees may fall because of the blowing winds, Oh!  It is also not good for the stylishly set hair of the girls, they may look as they have a fight with their rivals who had dragged each other’s hair.  So, folks I must go now, before the crowd of dating couples, gathered outside the studio would attack me for spoiling their evening.

Dé.jà vu

I was waiting for her in the hotel lobby, where I had to have a short stay as a transit passenger.  I did not give her the time, but I e-mailed only the name of the hotel in which the airline was going to provide me the lodging. I had nothing to do specifically there in the hotel, so I came down to the lobby restaurant made myself comfortable in a sofa from where I could keep an eye on the entrance of the hotel.  The contents of the e-mail I sent to her were echoing in my mind:

“I am travelling, and I have made my flight arrangement so that I can get a transit in your city.  My stay will be for about 10 hours, so the airline will provide me a room in Hotel Serena located near the airport in your city.   I would be very pleased if you could pay me a visit and have DINNER WITH ME if it is convenient to you………………….”

I was there sitting on the sofa, and periodically eyeing the entrance.  All at once I felt that the atmosphere around me changed, and filled with an enchanting fragrance just as the same I used to feel whenever she came before me in my imagination. Yes she had come! She put her delicate feet in to the entrance.

I didn’t know how all it use to happen, or maybe it was because of the love I have for her, I could never see her as a separate person. I always felt that she is a part of me, runs like blood in my veins and I breathe which gives me life.   It always surprised me that mere an appearance of her could transform the entire surrounding.

She threw her searching eyes around, and stopped at me.  There was complete silence, I was hearing nothing, the slight movement of her bosom, where she was holding the baby was giving me the sense of her breathing, which she was trying to control.  There was a smile of content on her face.  She stepped towards me; as usual I felt that if she was floating.  I stood up when she came near me.    She sat on the other corner of the sofa very calmly as if there was not need of any formalities. 

There were two more eyes looking at me besides her…………..the baby, she was smiling and cuddling while looking at me.  I smiled back to her………………trying to scan her face as I wanted to find some reflection.

We were sitting there in silence, or as we did not need words to communicate, just as our eyes were doing the rest.  Quiet, but all was there we talked.  I was in a deep calm seeing her contented; the happiness pouring out of her was all I saw. 

“Aren’t you going to order, am I not invited at dinner?”  She was smiling while talking to me.

“You do it.” 

“Okay, here is Alcatra (menu).” She chose some dishes, as she knew very well what suited to me as well as hers.  They were all Egyptian dishes.

I did not know how much time was passed. Then she asked after  we have finished the dinner, “When is your connecting flight?” I at once came into the material world.   I threw an eye on the clock in the lobby,   “the airline coaster is about to come within an hour.”  I replied very dejectedly.

  ‘Ok, I must leave now!” There was a gloom clouded on her face.

“Tell me, do you feel any remorse after seeing me?”  I asked her while she was trying to compose herself.

“Remorse!”  There was a shock in her voice,  “Why! No!............I am rather finding myself as I am in a complete protection, save, and without any fear………..very contented.”  She was speaking very confidently and her eyes were shining more and more with every word she spoke. 

“I am really having a longing that I might have the power to reverse the turntable of life back to synchronize it with yours.”  There was a deep smile on her face with a light colour of shy. 

 “Thanks for the dinner.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“I had to, I was longing to see you in physical and you provided me that chance.” Saying this she stood up to leave. 

“I would have to bring some gift for you, but I could not decide what……….”

She interjected, “Oh there is no need for it!”   She smiled,  “I already have my gift…………..”  She eyed her baby and gave her a big kiss.

That was a ‘dé.jà vu’.  It was happening to me once again. Many year ago I faced the same situation someone said the same words to me and I could not say a single word in return except staring her as I was seeing her this time spell bound stepping down far away at the last step of the hotel’s exit, where she was going out of my sight engraving her last look in my heart.  Once again there was a heavy burden on my heart, but this time I did not violate the norms and ethics of love but NATURE did.

This one is one of my favourite blogs (love stories), I published it here in EC in 2014.  I am reviving once again just to remember the time has gone bye.  Hope you will not mind it.

Yes that was a Dejavu, because I had already written a blog (a long one), long before this one, in which I had mentioned the same situation as encountered here in this situation.  I will try to post that blog too, but it would be a bit long, almost 8 pages.

Following is my another blog became alive from my thoughts on the motivation of Eva's Writing Challenge)

I phoned her whether she would be able to come to see me.  I was wondering if I might be turned down, but instead my request was wonderfully accorded to.  I was surprised how could it happen, in spite I was hoping it to be happened that way.  She never responded to me like she did that day.  I was afraid she might not feel the pleading in my request.  I was thinking, trying to understand her indifferent attitude towards me, she might have got something in her mind.  And it turned up, when I was waiting for her at the rendezvous, she phoned me that she was at the airport and leaving for Switzerland for vacation.  I was shocked.  Is this her response to my love?  She knew I loved her, but there was no care of it in her eyes.  Was my love worthless?  A drop of tear fell down from my eye, I looked at the golden ring I was holding in my hand, on which the drop of my tear was glittering, sparking in its golden reflection. I shut the lid of the ring case and preserved the golden drop of my tear.

Is Money the basis of pleasant life?

Money here is meant wealth, material wealth like property, jewelry, currency notes and so on. To elaborate our discussions it is necessary to assess what is a pleasant life. Some may say that possessing of all the material comforts of luxurious living, having a good house and modern households, cars for traveling, good food for eating, high education for children and every such sort of facilities is the basis of pleasant life. If pleasant life actually means availability of all these material things then these cannot be obtained without money. But the fact is this that possession of wealth can or cannot make a person’s life pleasant. This is because being happy very much depends on a person’s wish to be happy and how he is passing his life, that is within the norms of life which Allah has instructed or free of all bindings. One can have all the wealth in the world and choose a life free of all bindings then he will entrap himself in all the problems which will make his life unpleasant.

To have a pleasant and satisfying life we should take the guidance from teachings from God. To earn money is not prohibited, but God has given us guidance how to spend money. and it is in several places in the Quran that one should adopt normalcy even in spending money. Neither he should be extravagant nor niggard. Do expend the money where it is necessary, even to obtain the comforts of life for self and for family and on the other hand stop his hand where it is not essential. Following the instructions of Allah and his Prophet (PBUH) in every act of life is the real pleasure. Otherwise, the evil of wealth will overcome.

The unnecessary desire of wealth makes one's heart very hard and he does not differentiate what is good and what is evil. Such lust for wealth makes him selfish. The allures of being rich lead him to the criminal ways to earn a lot of money, without a sense that a lot of money is not necessary for having a pleasant life, instead, it makes a person proud. He thinks of others as inferior. But with all the wealth if a person leads a life according to the teaching of Allah and his Prophet, then it gives real pleasure not only here in this world but also in the hereafter.   

I wanted to write a story on the topic Blood Red Rose from the list in Eva's Writing Challenge.  But I could not bypass this story of Oscar Wilde which I explained while I was helping a student long time back. So I am copying this story in the response of Eva's Writing Challenge.  (Please be noted that I have not written it. But it is one of my favorite stores based on love).

The Nightingale and the Rose

By (Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde (October 16, 1854 – November 30, 1900) was a famous Irish playwright, author, wit, and poet during the Victorian Era.)

"She promised she'd dance with me if I brought her a red rose," cried a young heart-broken student. "But there's not one in this whole garden."

From her nest in the oak tree, the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered.

"Not a single red rose anywhere!" he cried, and his eyes filled with tears. "It's amazing how happiness depends on such little things. I've read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy, but my life is wretched because of a red rose."

"Here, at last, is a true romantic," said the Nightingale. "Night after night I have sung of him, though I didn't realize it. Night after night I have told his story to the stars, and now I see him."

"The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young student, "and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose, she'll dance with me until dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I'll get to hold her in my arms, and she'll lean her head on my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there's no red rose in the garden, and so instead, I'll sit by myself while she passes me by. She'll pay no attention to me, and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is a true romantic," said the Nightingale. "Surely love is a wonderful thing. It's more precious than emeralds and diamonds and gold."
"The musicians will play their instruments," said the student. "And my love will dance to the sound of the violin. But she won't dance with me because I have no red rose to give her." And he flung himself down on the grass, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

"He's weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" cried the butterfly. "How ridiculous!"

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silently in the oak tree and thought about the mystery of love. Suddenly, she spread her brown wings and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and sailed across the garden. In the center of the grass stood a beautiful rose tree, and when she saw it, she flew over and landed on a branch.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I'll sing you my sweetest song."

But the tree shook its head. "My roses are white," it said. "But go to my brother who grows near the fountain, and perhaps he'll give you what you want."
So the Nightingale flew over to the rose tree by the fountain.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."
But the tree shook its head. "My roses are yellow," it answered. "But go to my brother who grows beneath the student's window, and perhaps he'll give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the rose tree that was growing beneath the student's window and repeated her request for the rose. But this tree also shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered. "But the winter has chilled my veins and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I'll have no roses at all this year."

"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale. "Is there no way I can get it?"

"There is a way," answered the tree. "But it's so terrible, I can't tell you."

"Tell me," said the Nightingale, "I'm not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and make it red with your own heart's blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn, and your blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale. "Yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of the bird compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow, she sailed through the grove. The young student was lying on the grass where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale. "You shall have your red rose. I'll build it out of music by moonlight and stain it with my own heart's blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true romantic, for love is wiser than philosophy."

The student looked up from the grass and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying, for he only knew the things that are written in books. But the oak tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
"Sing me one last song," he whispered. "I'll be lonely when you're gone."
So the Nightingale sang to the oak tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the student got up, and went to his room and began to think of his love. After a time, he fell asleep. And when the moon shone in the heavens, the Nightingale flew to the rose tree and set her breast against a thorn. All night long, she sang against the thorn, and the cold moon leaned down and listened.

She sang of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top branch of the rose tree, there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal after petal, as song followed the song. It was pale at first but grew darker as the bird sang louder, and a delicate flush of pink came over the leaves. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, and so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's blood can make the heart of a rose red.

Her song grew wilder as she sang of love, and the marvelous rose became crimson, like an eastern sky. But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat fast. Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy and opened its petals to the cold morning air.

"Look!" cried the tree. "The rose is finished now." But the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon, the student opened his window and looked out. "Why, what a wonderful piece of luck," he cried. "Here is a red rose! I've never seen a rose like this in all my life. It's so beautiful!" And he leaned down and plucked it.
Then he put on his hat and ran up to his professor's house with the rose in his hand. The daughter of the professor was sitting in the doorway, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the student. "Here's the reddest rose in all the world. You'll wear it tonight next to your heart, and as we dance together, it will tell you how much I love you."
But the girl frowned. "I'm afraid it won't go with my dress," she answered. "And the prince's nephew has sent me some jewels, which cost far more than flowers."

"How ungrateful," said the student angrily, and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter.

"What a silly thing love is," he thought, as he walked away. "It's not half as useful as logic, and in fact, is quite unpractical. I shall go back to philosophy." And so he returned to his room and pulled out a dusty book, and began to read.

This is another blog I have tried on the topic 'Abandoned House', (provided in Eva's Writing Challenge), which I have used as a metaphoric symbol.  Maybe it is found by the readers as somewhat philosophical.

When we are in suffering and difficulties, a stage comes when we considered ourselves as an “abandoned house” haunted by the miseries. An abandoned house is a place where no one wants to come or pay a visit.  But when a passerby sees a single thin line of a light, there arises a hope for the wanderer to take a refuge in it.