Winter Woe, part 1

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Lately I’ve been so worn from the simplest of tasks, and it’s making me think I’m sick again. My back cracks, body aches, eyes hanging as low as a bed of moss; slowly sipping air through a puffed veil, suffocating.

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I see myself in the cruelest places. I wonder if I see what everyone else does, or maybe just a dirty reflection of something that used to be okay.

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Innocent reminders of the tidings being brought, objects being bought, fights being fought in my mind. I find strength in the bubbles in the air and strangers in love.

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What would the festive lights be without the firs, balsam, douglas, fraser? A formless mass of chaotic light, endless potential for joy that lay in a tangled mess. No, they need the stability of their mate, the structure and form the plant brings.

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I come alive at twilight, crepuscular in nature and form. It’s in the quiet dark that light breaks through, music rings truer; imperfections fade into indiscernible edges to bump my knees on.

(It’s time to make things right.)

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