Clouds: Daylily

By Ilhamul Azam   
read the suite from the beginning


Yesterday, I got a letter. I know who sent it, but I don’t answer her. Love seems repulsive, I am not strong enough to endure betrayal, which is inevitable. Love is full of different distinct feelings and feelings change.

“ How are you?” she asked me.

“well,” I replied

“ Do you want to say anything to me?”

“I don’t.”

“Anything special?”


“ Did you get any letter?”

“Who would send me letters in this age?”

The girl never talked to me again, maybe from touchiness.

Someone had said to me, “ Touchiness sores life.”

Shrieve, neither mother nor I. Who knows,  Maybe hurting people who love us is in my blood.

The first teaching of love comes from seeing the happiness of mother and father, probably I didn’t get it, or I did get it but was small to understand it. Love lasts till some earlier years of marriage, then it starts to fade away, fades away like the people in it. My education tells me to be far from all worldly greed. Maybe, in the early years of marriage my mother and father weren’t, they were happy, they were caring, they were loving. What does it matter if it didn’t last long, at least it existed. They could provide a bit of love to the world from them, thinking about it is nothing but ecstasy.

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