Thoughts On The Afternoon: Alone, Again.

There's a reason why I always carry a pen, you know...

I'm going to begin to tell you my story. A story about afternoon sunsprays between the leaves of trees. A story of the crisp, cool, morning air of the winters in the north, and almost everything I have learned with a years' turning. Please bear with me, I'm not the best at finishing what I start.

Love is binding, wholesome, and real- which is why we seldom recognize its actual presence in our lives. I am seeing, in this early evening sun, how it has been with me for a long, long time, only I could never see it.

I don't know much about life. I have not experienced many things in the ways of living. I know that the year I was away was one of the hardest years of mine yet, and because of that it is all the more beautiful to me. When the snow fell last winter like all my struggles it settled to the ground with my anguish and self-doubt. Rising from that trialsome winter, devoid of all comforting things in the ways of home and familiarity, I am forever changed. I've since returned home; it has afflicted me with a sort of sickness that I cannot ignore. I perceived returning home would be a sort of relief from the sometimes dreadful encounters of my previous life. O, however so was I wrong... So I turned to projects but they never kept me still. I turned to false lovers but they always turned me out. I turned the bottle and it turned me angry, distant, and sadder than I had ever known.

It's too late to change now. I've planted a seed that I cannot harvest until the new year's passing. I must return once again to this place and suffer my misgivings until I am purged and found free again.