One day. Not even. Merely hours until...until what? What? What? What is it?

It is winter now. That I can say and feel sure. It is winter now. A different world, a different view. A different season. And yet on this eve, years since we last spoke, I become you. Oh, my dearest Polina, so beautiful, so indulgent, so shameful. Really? Shameful? So simple, so contextual, so deep, so incomplete.

How is it that it is you I find year after year when I cant find myself? How do I know you? We are one and the same, yet I am not you. Not for more than a fleeting moment anyways, when caught in the right light. How can one be so bright, luminous, and yet so lost? 

Where do you go when I am here? Are you with me? 

What is it? What is it? Really, please I want to know.

How does one feel guilty for not being hungry or hurt? How does one feel the need to sabotage one's life and well-being to understand desperation? I am barely of an age and have no idea what life will bring me, what joy and tragedies I will be dealt, so how can I say that I wont know these things? How can I assume that I will never truly understand the meaning or the worth of life when I have merely gotten my feet wet. It is one thing to be your own worst enemy if you are ignorant to your features, it is entirely another when you can look it in the face and recognize the destructive urge and have no idea how to get it by. 

The future here blinds like the fresh snow at the mid-day. So bright you loose your way and want to throw dirt on its glare for fear that it will never allow you to truly see. 

It is madness and I am alone. 

That is why I like the night. It is less demanding.