But when Autumn came, that is when he laid. The grass laying next to him and the wind caressing his cheek felt like heaven had taken him away. If it had been a day, a week before, no such calmness would rest as he is.

The leaves falling from the tree above were strikingly yellow; they painted the scene with their color, making the grass look synonymous with the sun. He couldn't help but allow his eyes to absorb the intricate paintings that the trees brought about; the gentleness and equanimity he felt when he gazed made his heart quiver.

He wanted so badly to breathe one last time, to feel the chill of the air passing through him and causing that ever so warm feeling in his stomach. No matter the effort, none came from it. He just laid.

And laid. And laid.

He laid until his mind had spiraling thoughts. Until he began to wonder: Who would find him? Who would love him? Where is he?

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He laid and laid and laid until these constant deranged thoughts muddled and became imperceptible. His eyes began to cry.

Tears gently fell to the radiant yellow leaves bestowed upon the ground.

How wonderful was the scenery that one could cry at? Until your head is with the ground and your eyes are with the leaves can you cry.

And this was but another thought. A moment departing in time and yet feeling as if an eternity passing.

His subsiding tears cracked his cheeks. He contemplated about this thought until once again, he heeded the voice.

What a lovely soul you adorn. Your tears taste of delicate grief and your mind feasts from your ineptitude to see.

Must you relish in what you see? And not appreciate what you cannot see?

Your tears run but you have not a clue why. Should you desecrate your time here?

His forlorn self still laid. The voice derided him with an acetic tone.