(no subject)
... And every year, winters have boiled down to surviving and begging for spring to come and crying when trees flower and turn green again. Autumns and winters have always been when I took my chances, as circumstances have forced, and the pattern would bear out; a fourth try, a segue into the days when I'll recount my tales with the "six years ago" preface. The planning was already in place and I could swear the planning was better -- Christ, I want to believe that I've learned, that I've gotten better -- but the entire thing has become so repetitious. The winter will hold out. The winters always will. Whether or not I will has to wait, but damnit -- I will try. Again. Forever. I will never stop trying. ...