This year December is freezing. 

The present is just like perpetual pas de trios, like drawings of Jean Cocteau – bright, brilliant mix of shining oils and delicate watercolours, odd lines, fanciful designs. I thought it was – but now I realize that even the past was everything but bright. And now the only colors remain are white and grey, all the tints and shades of it. Winter likes monochromaticity, likes to turn everything into snow and adorn with diamonds and jewels – but the real beauty and calmness comes in December, when Christmas is close and the winds are out of town for a long time and don`t break the silence.

Now it`s raining constantly, the roads have become sleet and slush and dirt – and you just try to protect yourself from cold drops and icy, biting wind. But do you really think that the reason you`re attempting to turn the lights off and to hide under the blankets is weather? Do you really think that hot tea will bring you comfort and people you call ‘friends’ are able to comfort you? 

That is so naive of you.

Your fears, your demons and ghost which hide in every corner of your sad, dark house are not going anywhere anymore. They`ll stay next to you pouring bitter sorrow into your coffee cup and taking the warmth from you. They`ll become your the most caring and solicitous friends – they`ll drown you in the woe one day. 

Maybe November is the reason – for being lonely, for trying to avoid cold gray skies and messy crowds, flashing lights, city nights and your own love heartbeat. Maybe the whole point is that you still cannot forget and forgive, you still want to make the destiny return your fragile, unstable happiness. But you do not see, that unfortunately there's no one here to blame.

What about me? Well, I`m becoming thinner these days, my skin is getting paler, whiter and more delicate than ever,  it resembles the petals of lily in the dim light of twilight. Weight of cares and lack of sleep have made my eyes almost obsidian-black – like winter lakes somewhere in the north. Now Cain is turning into Kay – slowly, painfully, breaking the bones and inner walls. The fear lingers, hiding behind a fading opaque barricade that seems to be losing its potency, virtually diaphanous. The cold, indifferent and cruel Prince from an evil fairytale is turning into a fragile Princess now – weeping herself to sleep in pain and torture. A few more weeks – what will remain of me? Will it be a sin against purity - even to be near me, when I become too limpid? 

I really hoped that everything would be quiet and sweet and warm – but now there is only the cold and ice left. I really thought I could change something – but it turned out to be just the change of seasons. My autumn cup is almost finished – and winter is waiting to cross the threshold.

I miss you now – but our hearts got too big, it's only a feeling little hearts get, because little hearts don't have room for Doubt. And it hurts - oh, Lord, it hurts so much.

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