A Year of Winter...

I feel unfinished,

How so?

In a way in which the air feels stale and suspended,

Why?

Well, the birds perch and don’t move on as quickly as they normally do, in fact, they linger just until I can catch a quick glimpse. Do you understand how much a fraction of a second matters to a bird, specifically, a creature that is always in flight, a creature that is meant to take off at any sign of sound or movement?

…?

Well, I do.

Winter is coming, that makes it almost a year; a year since a conversation was had,

I feel caught between the wind, like a leaf making twelve rotations just to lay flat on one side,

I feel as the ocean does in the Winter months, like a shore meant to break and release the catch of the day, but only to get rejected because nothing of delight is caught during the colder months. I pity the Winter sun the most, like a summer sun, but gives no warmth nor golden embrace.

Do you think I will ever sit across in a steel chair and talk about it, what could have been, what did not go wrong, but what did not go as planned?

What do you think?

Are you answering my question with a question?

…

Well, this I know, love is a great friendship, and in some friendships, friends go almost a year without talking to one another, but when they do find their way back to each other, it is the sweetest and most rewarding thing, because the act of coming together is rebellious; it is boldly declaring that on our first attempt, we did not work, but on our second attempt, we brought something else—growth, perspective, and understanding—to make it work during this revolution.

H.A.