Somethings you need to write on paper, I think. But I will transcribe it here anyway.
May has always been fraught with false promise
dreams of love
(and yet all dreams have endings)
Conceived in the cradle of spring
Grown gravid, then stillborn come cold winter
And STILL I wish.
But I have been stricken too many times
with this abominable endless madness
The infinite crossing, entangled paths
of a million pinpoints of light
careening throughout the cosmos
wracking my mind
To unwind a thread means to
unravel the entire thing
and there are not enough millenia
for one man to attempt such a task
I do not want to hope
But to deny hope is to deny Life.
And then there is this:
It isn’t until now that I appreciate the deceptive nature of the month of May. I suppose that ever since I was a child, May has always meant endings, but also, the promise of new beginnings. The final full month of school, with glimpses of the summer ahead. But I’ve grown to learn that, more often than not, such promises rarely come to fruition.
It is interesting how May (the fifth month of the year in the Gregorian calendar) and may (past tense of “might”) are homonyms.
I will try to be hopeful, but I’ve been down this road way too many times.