january brings emotional ups and downs. sleeplessness and prophetic dreaming. bouts of sadness bingeing on distractions and self-shaming.
nothing is perfect as i wake from a refreshingly simple dream. one from some other reality - some combination of past and parallel worlds. a reunion with an old friend - a tissue box moving on its own - nighttime in the city in winter. the unadorned marvel of the multitude of lives across the street. glowing from their own metric squares of light varying slightly by design. some from Christmas lights. some from the UV rays of their TVs. some from the yellow of their kitchens. peering out from my window into theirs, I ponder the variations. and remember life outside my own.
then to wake into the monotony of it - and with the dull realization that i've been dreaming. of nothing particularly arresting. and in this same room - though a different time of day, a different friend, year. a dream about dreaming of different possibilities. I wake to find it's morning - and still - I’m boxed in by cold and repetition.
so i look to the window. and snow is falling. and as simply and fully as i noticed the many lit apartments in the fall of evening in my dream, i gather the snow. awe-filled and grateful for the reminder of blank slates and fresh canvases.
the thing that the new year promises and deflects, the snow brings back. amidst the seasonal jolts of insanity - the tufts of self indulgent hibernations - the intimacy of nerves
comes the snow.
silent and falling.
beneath it i can bare loss. i can bare regret.
i can bare short comings.
beneath it, I can notice the smallest change of light and remember the closest possibilities in my dreams.