Goodbye to All That, in Summer Nights

Finally, passers-by no longer kiss goodbye to anyone or anything except the raindrops that touch their shoulders by chance. 
By Loulin

In raining days, the dark clouds, it seemed, were pouring tears, instead of rains, kissing goodbye to the bright summer lights. It is true that summer days in Hubei are rapidly vanishing, leaving of trace of whereabouts. So profoundly unsettled were the poplar trees by the dying out of summer heats that their undying heart-shaped leaves tried hard to grow thickener than ever in order to memorize the passionate warmth they had absorbed from the sun during those heat summer days. Beneath the darkish grey sky were the beautiful and starlike heart-shaped poplar leaves so intensely greenish that it was as if they are the representation of summer’s unique strength. The stronger the sunlight the sweeter the leaves that eventually grow like a heart.

Pedestrians in the wettish streets rarely greet each other perhaps in part because the darkened, discolored umbrellas they held saddened the moony clouds. Finally, passers-by no longer say goodbye to anything except the raindrops that touch their shoulders by chance. There is a sense of profound love for anything soft, gentle, and unaccusatory. So vulnerable was this late summer night that not even a sound was made in the lengthened period of raining this evening. Yet, the autumn, as people finally recognize, has arrived. And there from afar, the flattish and broadening fields full of greeneries embraced the rain as ever. It’s time to find somebody to be around with.

When the summer leaves,
There is often nothing left but lonely souls
Who have since encountered uncomprehensible strange things.
Actually, when the autumn comes,
People are easily crazy and
They gradually recognize that not everyone is truly compitable with anohter one.
When everything is done and fruits harvested,
There is no need to find somebody else to be around with
Except someone with a pure heart
So transparent and sincere that
On no day would he surrender his dreams
To any decadent entities.
He is as holy, pure, loving, and free as
A newborn, except that he never cries for he knows far too well
That no one truly deserves his tears except God.