I left my windows open last night,
and now the scent of dryer sheets
and the oncoming winter
twirls about my room.
How could winter symbolize and signify death?
Things don't die in the winter.
They hibernate.
They bide their time
before the spring.
They bottle up their energy
so they can make it through the cold months.
And they stay sedentary.
But they certainly don't die.
Winter is a time to create your own warmth.
It's when the world stops providing heat and food
and trusts that you will do it on your own.
It's a time of life.
A time of sustaining life.
A time to reflect on the past year
and use your own thoughts and energy
to keep you going.
Perhaps that makes winter an independent time
but there's nothing wrong with that.
Maybe the winter helps you recognize
what you're really made of.
I'm tired.
Maybe I can step aside for a while
Let this wall stand on it's own.
Maybe I don't have to sit on top of it,
guarding it with my life.
Maybe I'm just as fine standing next to it,
claiming it as my baggage,
but not hiding behind it,
saying what you see is what you get.
Cause what you see isn't always what you get
And if it is,
Maybe it's time to put some new things on display.
The baggage gets tiring after a while.
It's tiring to lug it around everywhere.
Maybe I'll leave it in one spot for a time,
give my arms a rest for a while,
and come back later.
It doesn't need my constant attention.
Hell, it's strong enough on it's own.
