calendar

a bit longer but still a scribble

it’s February now and i’m thinking of how fitting it is that the year begins with the season that is the death of it all.
maybe it means nothing, maybe it means that things have to end for something new to begin, or maybe it means i’m looking for something where there’s nothing at all. it’s not the first time i’ve done so, but i suppose i’m just desperate to cling to the idea that everything has meaning. can you blame me? if there’s no point to any of this, then i’ll just have to create my own. i’ll find something special about the way your hand rests in mine, create a significance to the warmth of the small of your back because surely this has to mean something, it has to.