I was born in December, when the wind flew and the rain dropped.

When leafs danced in the wind and rustled under your feet, you could feel my heartbeats.

I was born in December, in a cold day. All was shivering and no one had any time to stop or smile. Just the yellow leafs under the passenger's feet screamed in despair and sung their last song.

I was born in December, when all the doors and windows were closed and there was not any sweet dreams anymore.

It was not my choice to be born on such a cold atmosphere. but....

It is up to me to curse the wind for weathering my skin or sing with its song. It is up to m to get angry for being wet under the rain or deliberately jump in the puddle to revive my childhood memories.

It is up to me to close my windows or my heart. It is up to me to see the others sorrow and turn my face in ignorance or help them even by saying some kind expressions.