winter's tale

it begins with looking out the window. in the early morning when the city is lit still by the lonely cold street lamps. It has snowed. At last, you think, winter is here. It means that soon enough it will go away. then what? you think. another spring, summer, autumn winter and so on, for as many seasons you may have left. There will come a day when you'll take your last look at the early morning lit by the lonely cold street lamps. You probably won't know it. And you'll probably still be happy that the season that begins then would be on its way to pass again. And this morning might be one of those days. And you pull on the jeans, the sweater and the boots, take a fast look in the mirror and chase that sigh out of your chest lighting the first day's cigarette, as you watch the kettle on the stove. instant coffee. instant waking. or almost. There are dream leftovers on your mind, bits and pieces of last night's torments or fantasies, hanging in the corner of your left eye, and water can't chase them away yet. Better off you think, the cold of the snow piled up on the car will clear them. And sipping from the steamy mug gives you a little sense of grasping a fresh reality. Little sips, so little that the hot liquid seems to evaporate in your throat, and there go the little stones that were gathered there, waiting to come out through the eyes when you least expected it. And you look out the window again. No more street lamps. Just endless streams of cars, muted by the snow. thank you for the silence and the cold. Winter is good sometimes. Feels like an alternate reality. like a TV show. and you are not the star in it. someone else is. someone that you never see in it. just know he's there. Fuck you, not today you won't. But you're wrong. Again. He will. today as well as tomorrow. It's weird. feeling your skin is somebodyelse's. But it's winter and winter is strange. But so was the autumn and the summer. Fuck thinking. Just drive. mind your Christmas tree and Christmas presents and all your Christmas cookies. And wait for the winter to be over. Same thing i waited for last winter. for January to come. I hate Christmas. stir through your head, the leftovers of the last night's dreams and the thoughts that flocked in your abnormal brain for so long, still trying to find that right thing to do. and how to do it. Struggling to find that path that will take you where you want to go. You just don't know how. Last summer was so hot you couldn't think too much. The autumn was too strange. And now the cold and the snow just numb you. And that place inside your skin rages for the thoughts and feelings that you cannot grasp or sort. There goes your day. Again.