Autumn’s Hesitant Arrival
立秋 [2] / [9]
He felt guilt, shame, anger; anger especially. Anger at himself for having to feel such shame and guilt because it was his fault. All of it. He could have stopped this at any time, and he knew that. This thought made him even more angry with himself because, not only did he betray the woman that he loved, he ended up betraying and debasing himself in the process.
After all, he didn't just sleep with any woman. He slept with, and allowed himself to be seduced by, the same woman who had shattered his heart so thoroughly not all that long ago. And he allowed this to happen despite the fact that he would risk throwing away something that was real with someone he truly loved for a one-night angry hate bang a woman whom he not only didn't love, but who had caused him so much misery up until this point. He was sick, tired, and exhausted, yet he couldn't sleep, such was the depth of his despair that he couldn't even rest with the knowledge of what he did.
The notebook and the pen were right there in front of him, but he couldn't write anything. His heart was in deadly agony. For quite awhile, as a silkworm reels off threads arduously, he weaved words and sentences slowly.
<A record of penitence>
My face remains
in that copper mirror with green rust
How is it so disgraceful a relic
from which dynasty past?
Let me lessen my writing of penitence to one line
- In what happiness had I wished
to live for this period I’ve been alive?
Tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, on any delightful day
I should write one line of confession again.
- In that moment of youth,
why did I make that shameful confession?
Try to wash my mirror off
with my palm and sole night after night
Then, a silhouette of a sad person’s back,
walking beneath a meteor’s path,
appears in the mirror.
