My Winter in Solitude

I find myself rummaging for happiness in December, it is never there waiting for me, Instead I am enveloped in the arms of fear and dread — the air is damp and dark, it fails to comfort my sorrows. The fortune of life weighs heavy on my shoulders, I belong to the past or the future, it is never the present. The pain, the joy, and the immense change of the past year stares into my soul — a reminder of life slipping through my fingers, time does not wait for anybody. The flickering of Christmas lights only reveal a melancholy mood in my eyes. I wonder if I’m a miserable person. Why must December make me feel this way? I’m wondering if the person reading this feels the same way too. There is a heavy grief that I carry around, for others and myself, for life. Things will never be the same, I am grieving for my past self, in the blur of two years I cannot recognise her anymore. 

Perhaps It is not a light that I need to see but rather a light that needs to be let in. I do not need to be here, I can travel somewhere else far in my mind, I can cease to exist. If today is too painful I can travel to tomorrow, or even next year. Too heavy is December to carry, so it is December that I shall let go of. Perhaps it is the ordinary that I crave, a simple glimpse of the sunrise in the morning, or the melody of a song from last summer, stroking the depths of my soul. I’d like to dance the day away and exchange my loneliness for contentment. 

I refuse to collapse under the weight of winter, I must go on until my skin is hot and my tears are full of laughter.  

My winter spent in solitude.