And so winter is leaving me. Sooner than I expected. Although I’m used to this ritual I go through every year, I never quite accept it as my life.Why do good things always leave me?
The wind blowing, the rain falling, the ground flooding. Now it’s only in my head for another damned hell-pack of months.
You see, it’s as odd as a cycle that never repeats itself. Well, not the same pattern, only the same meaning. A whole circumference of lost evidences in the past that goes around and around and around… But this time, in the future.
My head is blowing with all these things I don’t remember. She said I did them. But then they said I didn’t. It is all part of the game. And whether I like it or not, it keeps me alive and I’m beginning to like it.
Another message from my throat. She complains about the lack of oxygen. I am choking. Still I can tell it. As I can’t tell anything. It’s getting too much, too way down inside.
Things are changing now, I can feel it. There’s blood.
