Hello November, How Do You Feel?

 

 Hello November, How Do You Feel?

What, twenty years from now? It’s not even a shadow yet— just a blur in the distance. Does that matter? It is as meaningless as your next breath or your last.

No one cares, do they?

Except you—how do you know? But even if you do, can you prove it?

Your name is a nice reminder that all stereotypes have exceptions.

Did you kiss the moon yet?

No, of course not.

I forget that time and space are two distinct aspects of this universe. Forget it. The snowy shadows of March have come and left numberless times. Why cling to the past? You breathe better when it fades into a subtle memory. That's what you are tasked with, selling handfuls of hope in frantic cups of freezing hands, reminding them what it feels like to be themselves.

Hey, November. You're the vengeful son of a shriveled-up heartache, right? How do you feel?

Cold, are you? It’s just the chill of passing time.

But don't fret now, the nature of time is sublime, it waxes and wanes, slow dancing alone against an inapproachable background.