thoughts

365 Days of Creativity

day seventy one

thoughts

Winter came fast.

The ice and cold swept over everything faster than I've ever seen. It seemed to be a matter of hours. Whatever warmth had been birthed by the short-lived spring was quickly eaten by the frosty bite of winter. Seasons of four seem to be a thing of myth. What happened to the days of summer? Where did the sweet heat of the fiery sun escape to?

Have the gods of summer been forever conquered by the spirits of winter?

I missed you for a while. I dreamed of the scorching blaze of well-lit days. But fantasies fade faster than photographs, and memories are merely mazes of escape. Facades of falsities. I choose not to get lost in them anymore, thinking of summer does not make it come any sooner.

If thoughts were things then I'd have wings and you'd burn brighter than hell. The mysteries of seasons unseen are cases for someone other than me. To delve into the diaries of danger, to read into the memoirs of fear, perhaps would bring an understanding of things, but leave the taste of insanity. I'd know you well if scars were to tell the stories they hold beneath sinew and bone, but these are the haunts of ages. When past and abuse are written uncouth, it's the present that loses all meaning. So wander not into the maze of fate, for finding your way is impossible when there is no end to be found.

I can be close to you without knowing you, and I can learn of you without touching you. But the stories of summer don't let you feel the heat of the sun.