Not to snow

“As the leaves fall down, I wish it not to snow”

This is some of the most beautiful lyrics I’ve read in a while. To recapitulate, I would like to borrow from his own words, as he once summarised for Frank Ocean's White Ferrari, I think it portrays the loneliness as one wishes to pause the inevitable changing of seasons in such a beautiful way.

Strangely, this was an exact capture of myself in September.

The first time I came to aware of autumn, reluctantly, was a late afternoon. I squinted my eyes so hard as I saw a touch of golden sketching the edge of the tree leaves. I tried to tell if it was indeed the first sign of autumn, for I first mistook it, in contentment, as them being gilded by sunset. That momentary enjoyment was soon shattered by the crushing sounds on the ground, I looked down, and saw myself stepping on a small pile of fallen leaves. Unspeakable sadness, panic and anxiety, waves after waves flooded towards me all at once, knocked me out and left me nearly fixated at where I stood.

I was almost confused. I used to enjoy autumn, I used to adore nothing more than autumn leaves in Hyde Park, patched together, golden, orange, scarlet, and many more shades. Why is it that all of a sudden the coming of autumn became unbearable?

If we could use the term separation anxiety to describe human beings parting from each season, summer must be, undoubtedly, the one most spoken of. Especially summers where long dark winters are endured. My last winter, quarantined and depressed, has much traumatised me to the extent that when daylight inevitably started to shorten, came in the fear of its recurrence. I was obsessed, almost in despair, with going through the times of sunset. From 8 to half 7 to 7, summer slipped away anyhow.

But I did look forward to snow when winter eventually came. I’m not as melancholic as whatever these words read like, neither is he, I’m pretty sure ;)