Manic Frustration “If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.” ~Lord Byron

The fluctuating of the weather between moments of sun and warmth to the bitter, chilling winds and ice mirror the climbing and falling of my own heart and mind. It's been an entire month since my dear friend passed away so suddenly, but the days still seem long and the nights endless. Sleep is a difficult chore and when it does come, it comes in small doses. It's hard to see beauty anywhere sometimes, but it finds a way to wander into my mind or into view.

Ice clinging to a chain-link fence. Small prints of a rabbit in freshly fallen snow. The embrace of a friend. Love returned from the one you love so deeply. And the sunsets. They've seemed so beautiful since you left. Or maybe you just make us slow down to notice them now. In either case, thank you.

Words don't come easily right now. It seems like a death in itself to someone who holds the pen so close to his heart. Sometimes I'm just afraid of what may escape me. That I may not be able to hold onto it after it bleeds onto the pages. Memories are so vivid in my mind. So perfect. Words don't seem to be enough right now.

But I'm trying. And every day I get out of bed, struggle to push through the exhaustion. It may get worse before it gets better, but I hope the storm will pass. I need the sun on my face. To feel the grass and the trails beneath my feet. To see life springing forth from every nook and cranny. Maybe there's still some left inside of me. It's hard to tell some days. Some days, I feel for a pulse. Or pinch myself wishing it were a dream. But my heart still beats, however faint. And I still feel the pinch in my flesh.

Usher in the Spring. I'm tired of the cold and the darkness.