You're Welcome, November.

From today, Earth will rotate more vividly and evidently. With every passing week, I shall consider putting on more layers on my skin to keep me warm and comfortable. Mornings will become darker, but I shall be there whilst the sun rises, colourises the sky, adding chromatic expectations for what is to come during the shorter days and longer nights.

It is November, and a fear is tingling the edge of my spine, questioning my abilities to cope with the cold and the captivating darkness. Also, there is a shallow sceptic disbelief in how I’ll manage to reclaim my health and leave that vicious cycle of relapses for good. But oh, leaving that all behind, November looks brutally hopeful again; the clouds are approaching carrying more than just vapour, but providing the world with a cooler shade of colours, which makes the skies and infinite numbers of azimuths less blue and more foggy and uncertain. But oh, let that be. Let November be.

Just as we should all let ourselves be, with our flaws and indefinite lives. It’s okay to be lost, and I’m sure that one’s discovery is not a sustaining goal of a forgotten mission; no, you shall discover something, lose it in tribulation and reclaim what’s worth more, later, when the world decides to. The world is able to decide more than us, as if it had acquired the thought-span of the universe combined, with all its mysteries and secrets— God’s decisions.

Loss will hurt because it makes us uncomfortable, allows us to believe we are building up our lives on a shaky ground, extremely likely that we will be thrown off by an earthquake any time. And yes, that is the truth, but I’ve found that instead of living those periods in between the possibilities of that ‘any time soon’ in pain and hurtling panic, it’s better to dedicate it to higher causes, no matter how short-term they end up being.

Everything here is short-term anyway, and nature tells us that every day. It’s always a cycle, but what’s even more thrilling is what we humans have no idea about its parameters and dimensions, we just hit the next phase randomly, though I’m sure there are reasons that we all find out when we start to accommodate.

The winter can be as cold as it likes, but I’m attaching myself to it, ingraining my soul to life’s journey towards death, picking up the pieces of information I can on the way. To live a finite life just to meet the ethereal is one kind of a quest. I’m attaching myself to God’s messages to me and the world as long as I’m breathing, and that requires me to function as vividly and exuberantly. Faint I shall be, but so will my ability to decipher the omens descending from the divine.

Then, I will fluff my pillows from last night’s dreams and aerate them with space, so that the galaxies in my mind could rest and spill over, creating all the patterns they want to. I’ll be observing.

Enter: November.