the Wilderness

The horoscope lies, I mutter under my breath, while she just laughs and said I'm only reading it wrong. The dog returns after days away and the familiar patter of paws at the door is reassuring; you don't know what you've gotten used to until it leaves you. The weather turns, the season flips against your will and suddenly the evenings are dark, the winds cold. The fear grips me before I even reach the river and I think it's too soon, but no one listens. Another year dies. Another life is buried under your piles of knitwear, your weary uselessness. I woke in a strange bed and stumbled down quiet streets, something feeling crooked inside me like a violin out of tune: was I playing it wrong, or was the melody never mine to begin with? All I wanted was a moment's respite from myself. Instead I buy my time on credit and waste my life trying to outrun debt collectors, is this what I was hoping I'd be doing with my days?

The horoscope said this is the month when my dreams come true but I think we're running out of time and everything inside me still cries when I wake in the morning.

There was a time when I thought I had magic in the palm of my hand. I'm beginning to think now they were just matches I set aflame, and now winter is coming. Now we pay for the dreams we entertained. No wonder I'm so afraid of the snow.