It should be springtime.
New life, fresh colors, the smell of blossoms, the warm breeze…
Life! Joy! New beginnings!!
And yet the sun is still hiding and the sky is still stubbornly somber. The trees stand humiliated in their nakedness, in their bareness.
The still dead, brown, withered leaves that were cast off an eternity ago still litter the ground. No matter though, because there is no green grass to be found, the vibrancy is still buried.
The lake is an etherized grey and does not glisten. You can’t glisten when you’ve been abandoned. And abandonment comes in many ways, don’t you know.
The forever winter.
I think I must be in my forever winter sometimes. I should be blooming and blossoming in this second half of my life, reclaiming love.
Rebirth. The rebirth of life’s possibilities and all of the gloriously beautiful things spring embodies.
But sometimes, like right now, as the spring rain falls cold and I am alone, I think I must be in my forever winter.
Only one thing is true.
Nothing last forever.
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