Hey. It's Day Two!
For the harshness that creeps into the weather this time of the year, there's also a softness you feel. It's as if you can wrap a part of winter around your hand and drag it back home with you. There's something malleable about it, something human. That's what winters are. They're slightly human. Humans are like mosaics - whatever they're a mixture of, somehow all of them end up looking pleasing to the eyes. Winters too, are beautiful to look at, but so grim to be in.
And that is most people in life. The only consolation is that summer will arrive. And that's also the hope most of us carry with us. That, there'll always be more people. And amidst that one simple belief, there'll always be things keeping you up at night. I could never quiet my mind. There was always something going on. Restlessness has always been my shadow. As it must be, for most people in different ways. As if there are people who dance, and people who stand against the bar and silently drown. Both are trying to quiet themselves by doing whatever they feel is extreme for them. But what when you find the thing that reins in your bustle, is a human. How do you step out of that? They tell us to be grateful about the small things in life, and yet to keep an eye out for the bigger picture always. And this is best for restless people. It's the thrill and dullness all the same. And it's the most abrupt things that are wished for. To be up late at night, or get busy in phone calls, or keep going back to pondering on the reasons why your relationships failed as if it were as simple as counting sheep on a sleepless night. But what when your drug is a human. Mostly like listening to James Blake blaring out of your speaker. Except the Blake you found, you can see, and touch and hold and talk to. As if your muse is your dependability on them. It's as if you're feeding on a brand of cocaine, customised especially for you. Do you now seek a therapist? Or more drugs? Or look for a new Blake? But there can't be multiple, can they? So you just take the beauty you felt, wrap your hand around it, and enjoy it until it melts away like snow in your hand.
And, for tomorrow morning, all you have to do is turn the page. The next page is either only blank, or holds something new.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.