New Year has turned into an ordinary one by now, and the pages of my diary have become something else, too. Although they appear empty, there is writing on the pages. Something has changed, though. A moment between the not-anymore-but-already-gone and the not-yet-but-still-to-come flashes before me, once again. And for a short while I forget myself. A reflection from the window wakes me up after I have fallen a sleep on my couch on a slow, beautiful day of winter.
I have been quiet recently. I have been thinking about the year that has passed. It's hard to believe that a year has actually gone. I wonder whether I'm on a right track now. All these things trouble my mind occasionally, but I'm not sure if I should bother myself with them. Memories of her make me want to forget the anxiety of the being and to think about the easy moments ahead.
The cruel, white coldness has embraced me in the last days, but there is something there that keeps me warm at the heart of the winter. I look through the window in the white horizon. Maybe we have passed the half way of the winter by now, I wonder. But it does not matter actually. Nothing has actually mattered recently. A glimpse of the dreams I thought I had lost forever catches my mind, and for a while I dream about all the little things that make life worth living. Suddenly I realize my existence; toward death, without a care..
