002

The Earth seems to be taking a long yawn, everything is waking up and I can't say that my soul is quite as sleepy as it was in the winter. I still won't acknowledge spring until I see buds on the trees, but until then I'll accept the pleasant weather as a relieving reprieve. The more sun I get, the better I feel. Everything is so much more uplifting without the ice and the blankets of snow. Some people can appreciate the desolate comfort of an opaque landscape, but I don't think I'm even capable of functioning without a few rays of light in my daily routine.


Regardless of the wind, I'm planning a walk to the park with my baby brother again. Everything seems therapeutic. I feel like I've been trying to reach into myself and shake my thoughts awake.


The playfulness of children is something that I envy, so much.


I miss the age where my face didn't recognize the cold, or when my fingers could be frost-bitten and freezing with little care or distress. I like the carelessness of youth because there's always so much less to worry about. Everything is so simple and free- but it's sad in the sense that we're all condemned to wake up conscious of our actions one day. Sometimes I wish that I'd been born without the common-sense so that I could leave my house without caring about the weather. 


So I'm going to take an hour or so to walk up the street to the park, bundle up in some clothes and enjoy the scenery. The wind's been screaming at me to come outside for so long, and now it's demanding that I leave the porch door open so that it can sweep in and touch me for once, because everyone knows- I've been too paranoid to let any bit of the outside come near for too long. Or, at least that's what I'm aware of.


By the time I get home, I want wind-burnt cheeks and a smile on my face. I want to love everything about where I am and make the best of what I have.


I want to be a poet again.