I don't know what I wrote

Under the shady tree among yellow leaf on 'autumn season' that never come in this country, I sat alone with the book on my left hand. taken seriously for reading almost a half pages. some activity that I love for killing my boring time while waiting.
you know why I called this autumn season? because the wind is blowing around and dropping the old leaves. and one of them exactly fall above on my book that I read now.

I sigh for a while. my memories goes back and bring me to something that actually tried to forget.
I don't know how this small yellow leaf can remind me with unpredictable question. because sometime, I found my self for trying harder to ignored, but in the other hand I can't deceive my self from what actually happened.
the heart know what it want, and I can't always lied for it.

Why I wrote it? and why you asking for it? if I know this 'statement' finally confiscate my mind, maybe I never to write it when I was not ready yet with the answer.
I don't know what truly happen.
I am hopeless.
I am confuse.
am I?


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