It's Cold Outside.

Changing seasons. When there's frost on the car in the morning, and snow on the hills, and a chill in the wind you can't forget, it smells like winter. And it's not official yet, but when you're wearing two pairs of socks just to reassure yourself that your toes won't freeze all day, it's winter. Because the only fix for cold hands is to have someone hold them, sometimes. And procrastination doesn't sound so bad when you're curled under a blanket. You know.

And when the mystery of what the rest of the month holds is eating away at you, but you can't wait. Excited and scared. Yes, sure, yeah, of course, mhm, absolutely. Which do you pick, when you wish you could say them all? When everything you have been thinking about is going okay. When your mix tapes get listened to, and the weekend looks like it should go according to plan. When your heart feels warm, and your shy smile gets returned, and all the pieces seem to be coming together. And nothing is too bad.

It's what comes after, that's the scary part. What are we going to be left with when all the snow melts away? This may all be a December illusion, but I can't say I mind.

Make It.

Life is full of uncertainty. The uneasy feeling of not knowing what's around the corner. When the future is never promised and the past is there to haunt you. When being sure of yourself isn't a luxury you can afford. You're a moving target, and everyone is ready to shoot you down. And every silence is filled with the sound of what's going on inside your head. An unappreciated silence that you can't afford to appreciate. Where the future looks so hopeful, but you feel so hopeless. And your heart is in your socks and you can't concentrate or breathe in deep without feeling weak because everything is just too much even though it's nothing special. Nothing in particular. Because the things that might be able to glue you back together, those are the things you might not be able to get your hands on. Those things that you wish for at every 11:11, on every shooting star, and think about before you go to sleep. Those are the things that could bring you back to the surface. Back to reality. Back from that deep sea of thought that washes over you, when you're drowning. Drowning in thoughts and worries and feelings, too much. But that roll of the dice is worth so much. You have so much riding on these things, it's hard. You're never prepared for the disappointment that could come from it. But you can't help but expect the worst, and hope for the best. What is there to do that gets you what you want? Things could go so right, though. Things could be closer to perfect than ever. And you can't swallow your pride and walk away from that opportunity. So you walk out with open arms. Ready for anything. You know?

"I'm ready to be amazed."

Disconnected.

That longing feeling. Not being able to get it right. When you want to give up but you don't know how. When everything you say doesn't come out right, but you don't mind. When blase isn't the word, but it's pretty close. When everything is simple chaos. The occasional numbness you get without explanation. Where you don't know when you feel alive. Where feelings are filtered, like you're covered in cellophane, nothing is really real. Where everything is vague. And everyone you meet is fake. Cut them open, they bleed, but you can't relate. They may as well be bleeding sunshine and candy. You can't tell the difference. Where brilliance isn't anything you know, or relate to. Where someone else's eloquence is superficial and not worth the time of day. When days are laced with cliches and frustration and nights are full of words and a dismal feeling. Every moment has an abundance of surrealism you can't shake.

Where someone else's smile feels better than your own. And you wear your heart on your sleeve but nobody wants to catch a glimpse.

Decoded.

It's that melancholy feeling, when the days speed by. When thought comes so easy, you wish you had the time to explain. When you close your eyes and you wish you could find the words to explain that feeling. Where you can always feel your heartbeat. Always. Where nothing matters. Where simplicity is all you know, and that basic heavy-hearted feeling is default. Waking up every day disconnected, with your head in the clouds, and it doesn't bother you. But sometimes you just get engulfed, and flooded. With those feelings you can't name. The ones you can't describe. The ones where no word comes close enough to say what you mean. So you say nothing. Where keeping your mouth shut and your mind open just kind of sets you free. And you don't need anything else. It's simple. Really.

Right?

Flavour of the Week.

Is it okay to be scared? Shaking scared in broad daylight, unsure of what's behind you, and what to trust. Uncomfortable in your own skin. When did the unknown go from exciting to scary? Scary is exciting, right? But exciting isn't always scary. You know the feeling. Where you can feel your heart pounding inside your chest, and you're so glad your ribcage keeps it safe or it just might jump away. When your knees get weak and you want someone to hold your hand, and you want to jump out of reality into your dreams. But even then, they might be nightmares. The only difference is the flavour of anticipation. Sweet or bitter. Where do the lines in between get blurry?

Sometimes things aren't so clear.

The Desperate Colours of Fall.

Anticipation makes things sweeter, like putting spoonfuls of sugar into a cups of tea, but if you have no tea to begin with, you're just building up to disappointment. Does that make sense? But disappointment helps us define our highs and lows. You can't know the good without knowing the bad. Or else you'll never know the difference. Clocks seem to be defining days, rather than events. Waiting for feelings and confessions and changes and days and people.

I'm waiting for that day that feels like hearing your new favourite song.

It's not love at first sight, but something like that.

If you can decode this, you deserve a scouts badge.

Pockets.

Plastic girls and cardboard boys. Girls made up with their cotton candy thoughts and cherry lips and emphasis on the eyes. Boys cut out to be exactly what you expect, one dimensional. Girls with painted on skin tones and perfect hair and critical words coming out of their bubble gum mouths full of air and sugar, absolutely nothing. Boys that add up to be nothing more than meets the eye. Hair and skin and a face, nothing running more than skin deep. There's no more to them. Cardboard. Ignorant pawns of society. Girls with airy Hollywood dreams, going nowhere. Boys chasing the girls, following them on their journey to nowhere. Happily ever after exactly where they started. Where is this going?

Somewhere are the girls with light in their eyes, shapes to their thoughts, and eloquence in their hand, with feelings on their lips. Where's the boy with his eyes to the sky and his heart on his sleeve and his hands in his pockets? When do the puzzle pieces come together? When does anything start to make sense?

These thoughts haven't been organized very well.

I apologize for the organized chaos.