January is drawing it's sweetly slow lines
to a close.
February's bitter wind is sweeping in
too close.
I want to rewind and remind myself
that it wasn't always this way.
I want to remember that somewhere behind me
there are memories not tarnished
with the blue ink of time.
The same
though different this time.
How do I hold onto hope
with pain seeping through the cracks of my
healing wounds?
I've come so far
but it's with me still.
keeping a few steps behind
but never leaving me alone.
I can swing my arms and whistle the tune of june
while still knowing that night comes
and the warmth of the sun isn't always there.
Long distance has gotten old.
Arms are much warmer
then 30 year old paper and pen.
February isn't forever. I know.
I just wish January was.
