I’d forgotten how hard winter is.
How hard it is to stay warm; that no matter how many years I’ve accumulated on the east coast, that I still never seem to have a warm enough coat; how sad and foreign the leafless trees look as the cold rolls in…
And I’d forgotten how hard it is emotionally.
How much shorter life feels when you only have a few hours of sunshine and you spend them all inside at work.
How much more difficult it is to adventure to a favorite place, to explore somewhere new, to see friends at all, or to make art or time for any of the things that make you smile when all of a sudden you’re tired at 8pm and you barely have the energy to do it all again the next morning.
I’d forgotten cold the nights are and how much more noticeably lonely without someone snuggled at your side; how your heart loses warmth in the winter, too.
The cold feels endless; life feels less.
It’s a reminder that I’m getting older, that I’m spending most of my life working just to get by. How badly I want to have more sun in my life and how out of my control that really is. Warmth becomes more a dream than a memory.
Winter is what I’d forgotten, and all I can remember.
And I know that Spring will arrive, and with it comes hope: new leaves, new habits, new appreciation for the little bursts of warmth and joy; but for now,
I am remembering the cold that I’d forgotten.
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