In summer, you leave because a friend's house is rented out. You went to the sea and went to London. Despite the season when the grass grows and the warblers fly, I sit by the window alone, waiting for your letter. Because of your love, my heart is full of joy; because of your decadence, my heart is lost.
In early autumn, you are back. Although I had vowed to forget everything here and live in London. But you still decide to come back, and despite your poverty and poverty, you finally have the courage to try to chase love.
The freezing rain in winter made you sick. Since then, it is your suffering and mine. On a cold day, you sit on the side of the window, sitting at the table, just to take a quick look at me outside the window. In the snow, I waved and smiled at you.
In the second spring, you were much better. Friends start planning how to make you better. It was also in this season that you left here again, just because your unsatisfactory friend had to rent out the house. How did you spend 5 weeks in a mean street with a serious illness? You absolutely told me to leave, but 5 weeks later collapsed in my garden.
In summer, with the help of your friends, you are about to get on a steamer to the South. Also this summer, we got engaged. Would the ending have been different if I had accompanied you on the long journey? Before you left, you cut a strand of my hair, is it still in your poetry collection? You said, let me wait and wait for you to come back next spring. Then we lived in a cottage in the country, with apple orchards in the back and mountains in the distance, where we could take a nap in the sun at noon.
In the late autumn season, I lost my smile and waited all day for a letter from afar. Good or bad. Time spent in vain.
Midwinter, you are dead. I cried.
Next spring, no more. I am forever, forever wandering in the woods where you and I walked, holding your poems and reciting "Bright Star". Because this is what you wrote for me. forever.
View more about Bright Star reviews
