November was always good.
You had lost your voice. No drama. You just took time to find it all over again. Santa did visit. Like magic, a little early.
You opened your heart in December.
Always good. You sang, you danced, you wrote. A lot of people made home inside your heart. Wonderful.
Along came the pests. Little, crawling, not taking any of your attention.
It suddenly started feeling like July.
Rain everywhere. Lots of voices.
You felt like drowning.
Feeling July-esque in February is not a good thing. You decided.
You are now getting rid of them. Those voices.
One at a time.
Making sure that fragile voice of yours remains where it belongs.
So that you could bloom again.
~nightflier
You had lost your voice. No drama. You just took time to find it all over again. Santa did visit. Like magic, a little early.
You opened your heart in December.
Always good. You sang, you danced, you wrote. A lot of people made home inside your heart. Wonderful.
Along came the pests. Little, crawling, not taking any of your attention.
It suddenly started feeling like July.
Rain everywhere. Lots of voices.
You felt like drowning.
Feeling July-esque in February is not a good thing. You decided.
You are now getting rid of them. Those voices.
One at a time.
Making sure that fragile voice of yours remains where it belongs.
So that you could bloom again.
~nightflier
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