It's almost winter and I'm wearing a coat I bought before embarking on a spontaneous over-the-sea adventure four years ago. It's almost winter and the density of my being is ever present on my mind, all day every day. It's almost winter and I'm not ready. For this, for anything. If you could pause time, I don't think I could get anything more than a deep breath in ... perhaps one out. It seems I've spent the start of this year trying to forget the last year. I thought I'd let it all go but now it's almost winter and all of those criss-cross-crazy emotions are haunting me once more.

In trying to forget, I'm trying to disappear. There is little meaning in anything and everything and while it's not a conscious resentment - I don't really like myself very much anymore. At one point, even when things were more grey than I ever thought possible, I didn't hate myself. Not truly. It was a childish sort of self-deprecation, but as the years go by and you can step outside yourself and see that your solitude is no longer your choice but the result of a cynicism so deep it threatens to shatter your bones with every step.

For the rest of this year, I resolve to find myself. To dream of the things I used to, to make plans to see places I've never seen before and walk cities I remember so fondly and talk to people I love more than words could ever say. 

( you know who you are )