November

November

 

4pm is for nostalgia,

Those long drives home when the past creeps into the nonsensical information roadways of my smoky mind.

The cold air is a reminder that when I feel most alive, I need to remember when it felt like being alive wasn’t enough.

Bare trees poke at my growth and patience out of jealousy, like, ‘how dare you forget where you came from.’

The moon misses me, staying up venting about the woes and worries of my darkness.

Ah, darkness.

Standing on top of my makeshift mountain I used to howl at the moon, yell at the moon, cry with the moon and wonder when I will learn to love the sun again.

And yet, here I stand.

Reminiscing, writing post cards to the night sky apologizing for my absence as I don’t visit as frequently as I used to,

Too busy running from the moonlight instead of embracing it,

Maybe I grew to favor the sun as I lacked basking in its rays for years and years.

As the world turns and time passes my memory fades like winter into spring,

Except in November,

The very end of November,

When the bitterness of winter smacks out any warmth left in the earth, in my soul.

10pm is for my second wind,

Chain smoking in silence listening to the galaxy call my name,

‘Do you remember…?’

Yes I remember, how can I forget?!

It’s embedded into my core,

Into my DNA

Into my existence.

As I watch smoke turn into warm air against the cold night,

Trying to determine which is which,

I go deeper and deeper down the abyss I miss from time to time,

It seems like this only happens in November.