Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play… I tell you, that it is on things like these that our lives depend.
It’s officially Christmas season. I’m neck deep in Christmas music, hot cider, and old Christmas movies with jazzy soundtracks. Despite my heightened awareness of how single I am, I quite enjoy this atmosphere. It’s all so very hopeful.