It is hard to write about January on its last day – much like an unyielding five-year-old who refuses to exit a toy shop empty handed and without a purchase, it feels like I am dancing on the verge of something wonderful, though perhaps not as bright-eyed and hopeful.
Emotions thoroughly exhausted, you get absolutely nothing back in return. Expectations run high, but with efforts carefully invested and then carelessly wasted.
Or it could be the combination of those whooping falsettos, uplifting staccatos and stolen moments made possible in both key signature and time itself, that made it so.
But you know that some of the best things in life do come for free after all, when you get to bear witness to some of the world’s dearest sights: a limitless canvas composed of a certain shade of blue; a brilliant round face on the surface of the moon; a generous peek of twilight heralding the arrival of a brand new dawn.
So I have been told that I should be doing this, and that is the belief that I am holding on to.
The closer I get, the further I have to go
To places we don’t know.