Never-ending winter. The snow is beautiful and cold. Far too cold to enjoy. I have no warmth of my own. Too much time until spring takes hold. I want it to be here now. I need it to be here now.
To rid myself of the chill that's crawled under my skin and made it's home in my bones.
But will the sun even help? Every year I pray for winter to end. I believe that when spring comes, glorious spring, I will be changed somehow. I will shed the winter skin and become something new and better, with warmth of its own. With no need for artificial heat.
And spring has never failed to come. But I peak my head out for the first day of sun and warmth, only to shrink back inside myself, wishing I could enjoy the newness of it all. But I can't. Spring reminds me of what I'm not. Inspiring and optimistic. Full of hope. Of potential.
All four seasons are soaked in a despair that I cannot shake. Winter is death. Spring is hopeless. Summer is suffocating. And autumn, autumn is anticipation of the darkness to come.
I want to rid myself of the chill that's made it's home inside me. But I fear it is here to stay.
Still my longing for spring continues.
