Decem

I'm reluctant to wake now, the aquarium bedroom chilly with winter winds, the mornings dark, life preparing for hibernation. Another month ends, they do so quickly now, don't they? and we have to carry on regardless. The year races to its conclusion, too, how many years have we lost now to this disaster? We are not the same as we were before.

I'm still trying to find wins in it all. 

The thing is, you've known your life's wins for ages. This morning, I read a manuscript from my own fingertips that felt brand new, I have stories for days, the day doesn't seem as cold, as dark, as lonely, when I am draped in printer paper full of ink, the life doesn't seem so impossible to endure when everything comes out in words, I know the win already why
am I looking anywhere
else?