The winter is here. I feel like myself again.
I peel oranges and put cinnamon on my apples.
I look at how I’ve cut them all uneven and I love every single piece that comes from my hands.
My coffee is just as warm as I want it to be and love is just a light air on my shoulders,
Which I carry around but never as a weight.
In winter I find my self being so in love with the world.
The beauty of a naked tree and each pomegranate planting its seed.
I want to be a winter child,
Where the colds are never unfortunate and the snow is always immaculate.
I once wrote that if I was a tree I would be a deciduous,
Since a change this small as the changing of seasons makes me rip all my parts off and throw them down to the ground,
And yet in this way I feel more connected to the earth as ever,
As if my emotional being finally belongs somehow,
To something so important like the beautiful weather.