# 37 || [ if less is more, nothing is everything. (2001) ]

It's not so much the weather anymore, because I think there's a tinge of romanticism in every season. Winter takes me two and a half years ago when I would always turn home to get the forgotten gloves on the kitchen table. Spring reminds me that the sky doesn't ever stay grey forever. Summer somehow both blurs and magnifies every emotion under its sweltering sun, and Autumn is a dream come true. It's a satisfying three-month state of longing. Dear Rain, with or without an umbrella, you can't touch me.

Though lately I do take a little fright that attaching myself to nothing and nowhere and no-one might consequence in a terrible sensation of being displaced forever, with no real sense of belonging. But with words, wings and this winter, why shouldn't I translate loneliness into liberty?    If I understood it first, if I could only tell you about a rock-bottom that I haven't ever seen, if I only knew how deep it was, if I knew all that I could do - I'd tell you everything. But all I can say is that movement is movement, and your velocity doesn't matter in the slightest.

Sometimes there is melancholy when I realise there are moments passed that I'll never be able to recreate. But life is an climbing curve and there is hope in knowing all those beautiful days are not unlike dress rehearsals for The Most Beautiful Day in your life. You'll live fast then, so walk slow now. You got it right, Fitzgerald - you can't repeat the past and it's not just Carraway who can feel within and without.

Anyway, thank-you forever lucky stars that I'm starting to think in fairytales again, I am grateful beyond words.

All my love, A. x

"I'm up in the woods,
I'm down on my mind.
I'm building a still,
To slow down the time."

- Justin Vernon

Because it's been awhile, here is a little modernised mix-tape for you. It's magic.