When Winter Comes
When Winter Comes and the remains of one’s heart fall all over the city by a simple touch, instilling despair…
When the purest view, with time, turns to mud, swept away by the filth of existence and we finally admit that for the longest time, we were falling instead of rising…
Winter has come again; snow covers everything with a thin coat of silence; and I wonder why I am back on this path. Did I go around in circles? Or is it just the way I walk: not in a straight line but by describing circles bringing me forward. It is a bit dizzying, but I seem to be covering more ground this way. It may be my way of dancing through life…
I have walked this path before; it is different yet so familiar. It was already Winter the first time around. I remember that the cold and microscopic prisms of ice were making the air shine in the sun, as if to tell me I was making the right decision.
Last Winter felt like a deliverance but this one is sweet and cruel. Slowly eating away at my reason.
We dread the return of Winter. We had hoped it would not come back because we have already paid our dues to the cold. There is beauty in the frozen desolation. But there is also pain in the loneliness of this little death.
Winter was always set to be back. How could we have both known and dreaded it, yet be so unprepared? We saw it coming, felt the first bite of the northern wind, and still tried to deny it would set again on our hearts. We feel the tiredness of the shorter days; the exhaustion of the cold numbs our feelings. We fight against the urge to simply close our eyes and lie down for a while. We mostly lose the fight, shutting out the world for a while, fearing the moment we will wake up to the vestiges of our past. Will the devastation have set while we rested for a while?
We will try to escape Winter once again next season as Spring and Summer wipe away our memory of the shorter days, of the bite of the cold. We will ride the waves of seasons like punctual amnesiacs. The euphoria of the highs driving us to forget how much pain we went through during the depression of the lows. This is the only way we know how to survive… Somehow though as the successive Winters are wearing us down, summer does not seem to grant us the same blissful oblivion; and, as remnants of the hurt confer a throbbing sensitivity to our skin, we cannot help but wonder: what is there to learn from the recurring Winter?