Post-traumatic recollections

There is this need inside us, of inventing things or maybe a strong desire to relive something that happened a while back and didn't go exactly as it was planned out from the get-go.

It's like a recurrent theme, a circular map you always come back to, like some marker on the road, just to make sure you are going in the right direction or just for the sake of feeling that you are going in a direction, whichever that might be.

It spins and it spins and it spins, circularity without dimension and you always start over and then you stop and then you go again.

This is winter, everything is stale and stagnant. People stay out of the cold. Nobody walks the streets without having a reason to do so. There is no roaming around. You discuss destinations and points of interest, possible trajectories. Everything must become the sum of its parts and there is no room to maneuver. Everybody's too concerned with body-heat. You have it or you have it not.

The point of transition into something new. You had the first signs and now you wait, indomitably, for something that will surely happen, but you just lost patience.

I hate winter, I truly loathe it. I simply cannot adjust to its steadfastness. It bores me to death and it's simply stuck within itself. Waiting to get out but simply not capable of doing it. And what I despise most is the effect it has on others and myself.

Every fucking winter is the fucking same, and it always makes its presence felt just before it gets better. It spoils the feeling of expectation, it drags on and on.

Winter, the waiting game. Drives me nuts. Happens every year. Can't get over it. Wanting to move to sunnier places. Must remember to do that.