Tuesdays

It is the season for rolling over.

It is a season that is maniacally social and intensely personal. There is too much happening and yet not much. Hazy and potent, of inebriation and awakening. That’s how promises are.

It is a season not for guilt but reconciliation. Ideally, with oneself. There’s the whole of next year for the rest of the world.  

It’s the season for the accounting of the changes within. Keeping the agreeable ones and discarding the rest. It is the season to know what is best. It is the season when one can’t hurt.            

It is the season of following new tunes, and then wandering into finding lost and forgotten ones. Of knowing how much we once knew. And that dreams of the past can be dreams again.