| February 1. February is the saddest month, leaving all holiness behind us, promising nothing. No, nothing. Uncanny, the hushed strain of this grey sedation. We are starved by a cluttered landscape of could've beens. Mind shouts Should've beens. What has been lost demands a deeper levy: begins to outweigh what has been learned. "Seek truth and be filled," the prophet proclaims, "Rejoice in suffering, hope in all circumstances. . ." yet the sun is cold, its setting unfathomable defeat. What is good is still good, but the trees stand unleaved. 2. It is nice to say that Truth is better, more beautiful than happiness, but the pulse slows, vision dims when you're no longer talking but trying to get out of bed in the middle of the afternoon. |