Thaw

The snow is washed away in rain, the streets lie bare. People outside the corner bar mourn the loss, as I laugh through the puddles at their feet. It makes the nights darker, yes, but my feet feel safer on concrete, my body lands firmer on streets than on that white magic. The building grows quiet, finally, my mind begins to stir. It is too late for song; I plug in headphones and pound classical pieces into the piano until my fingers fail and my jaws are clenched tightly.

A letter appears in the sheet music piles, a crooked hand-writing, a companion through the years.
And there it is, how simple: an answer to the writhing questions in your gut.

This madness, Cajsa, 
this sadness, 
this overwhelming angst and self-abuse, 
they are You. 

It doesn't mean you cannot be happy
It doesn't mean there isn't method to the Madness. 

It only means now is not the time
to give up
to give in. 

It means
you bleed
with purpose.