I grow uneasy with the early dusk, watch the light fade from the gray skies over the river, and we are still in pajamas, letting the day meander from under us. The break is so welcome, and yet already I feel the woods close in around me. As though I require the time off to pay me back in answers, in insight and direction. Where do I go from here? I look back at previous years and wonder if the words weren't better, if the gratitude wasn't more eloquently crafted. It's a year that's made it hard to be eloquent. Did I ask for this? Did I think something better would come out of dragging my soul against the gravel, that I had hidden treasures yet to unfold?
We are who we are. Around my undiscovered corners lies only more darkness, how could I believe otherwise? The truth is that the world didn't break you, so much as you broke yourself in its name. The truth is you could have moved onto another narrative by now but you keep that head so far into the clouds that you cannot see the forks in the road when they offer themselves to you. He asks if he can spend the winter in the comfort of your smile, but your know the frost beneath your touch doesn't thaw for less than a miracle, and then it sets the whole place on fire.
We have another drink, rearrange ourselves on the couches and floors as the November afternoon turns to night in our repose. I know I have to change this story, that no one else can, that the days will continue to come and go regardless of what I do with them and how much the darkness swallows me on the way. Just because you know this melody
doesn't mean you can't change the key.
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