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It is easy to romanticize the loneliness of winter, to find yourself floating amidst snow flakes in search of a proper landing. You make your way through the cold, dark nights in search of warmth, something you can grasp and hold on to -- a steaming coffee mug, a clammy palm, the last thirty minutes of a Christmas film. We long for the warm lights in shop windows, the thick coats and pink cheeks. We smile at people as they pass and then December passes and we are left in a cold and dark purgatory. The never ending winter has grasped our frozen wrists, sunk its teeth into our happiness and we are left begging. Please let the sunshine come back. I would give anything for a few minutes of warmth. This damn coat/scarf/sweater is suffocating me. In the early moments of winter, we may be swept into a romance unlike any before. It is never the same as the previous year, but the feeling that follows... it is too familiar. The sinking sensation within our bones, the harsh reality that the trees are bare and you are left with cold fingers and chapped lips. It is easy to romanticize the loneliness of winter when we are easily distracted by the happenings around us but, like any relationship, the romance fades and we are left wishing for the sunshine to distract us, to shed outer layers that have kept us in the dark for too long. And when the sun makes its joyful return, we will soon be romanticizing the oncoming winter again. 

catch you later,

Karleigh

"I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something.” // Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun