11. Alastair

Alastair

In the confines of my study, I retrieved the antiquated journal from its resting place within my locker. Leaning forward in my chair, I placed the book on the table before me.

A wintry wind swept inside the space through northern windows and blew through my hair. Not bothering about my favorite hairstyle, I gradually eyed the old page that had been sprinted with the dark ink.

“As winter's breath draws near, late autumn's phase seems queer. A strange time in life's sphere. The balmy zephyrs of summer, once beloved, now stir within you a disapproval. To the depths of the mind it leads, where shadowed memories plant their seeds, of the last few months it speaks, And in the heart, a sadness leaks. Simultaneously, it ignites a longing within to behold the splendour of snowflakes descending. Learn to shroud thyself in icy veneer, leaving warmth a mere figment to revere.”

How many times have I read this? About a hundred times or more. But the more I read this, the more confusion