Ebb

February drags its wasted remains to an end. Always this lack of posts in February, always so few words to say, so little meaning. Enough money to pay rent trickles in your hands at the last minute: you look up, and it's all been washed away. You buy yourself one more month of a home. You don't even know what the word means anymore; home is something you carry deep within yourself, after all, it cannot be taken from you. New keys get added to your chain - no, chain is the wrong word - new doors open to you, winter is impossibly cold but the snowdrops are in bloom and I know everything is coming, everything, do you hear me? I dragged my wasted remains through the end, it turned out 

it was

only

beginning.