They want me to write something happy, but how can you write about sunshine, birds and rainbows, when none of that exist in the dead of this winter. Nature is dead for the moment and honestly, I am too. Just a shell of myself remains, lifeless and dead. Only the cool icy wind, the spirit of change during this season of expiry, moves me across the dry, parched land. If you want me to write something happy, make the barren earth green and make the sunrise bright like the days of my youth, those are the only things which will make my heart light. For now I will settle for melancholy and this rich cocoa.
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